


Balaur Tavern

by melmac



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Kavanagh QC
Genre: #EatTheRare, #lovingdogs, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Michael, Complete, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, First time with a man, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, Top Nigel, hannigram AU, i made up the pairing name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8005642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melmac/pseuds/melmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after Michael Woodley was acquitted for his girlfriend's murder, he finds himself back in London after no longer being able to conform to his parent's wishes. He lands in Camden with no plans other than to survive. Needing a job, he wanders into a bar owned by a dangerous, charismatic Romanian, and everything he thought he knew about life and himself gets turned on its head. Warnings for drug use.</p><p>balaur (romanian)<br/>Dragon-like creatures and adept predators in a variety of terrains. Often, the balaur was depicted as a creature of epic proportions, one that “plant[ed] its footsteps on the mountain and touch[ed] the violet skies with its lofty crest.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd until chapter 10 so I'm trying to catch errors a I go over it :)

                                               
HUGE Thanks to [Camille](https://twitter.com/CamilleCailloux) for this incredible art!! 

The sky outside looked ominous and thick with gray clouds, pregnant with the rain that’d been threatening to spill for days. The gloom hovering outside made his tiny room as dark as night in the middle of the afternoon. At least Michael guessed it was afternoon. He couldn’t be sure. He’d awoken some time after the first thin crest of light appeared through the smeared spots of grime and dust caked on the only window in the room. He’d been laying in the same position since he woke, finding no motivation to even lift his head, his arms hanging limply off either side of the creaky twin cot.

His mind sifted through everything and nothing, pushing away the thing that brought him to his current state—or so he assumed, far away. Instead he landed on a memory, he’d nearly forgotten, it was so long ago.

He’d been about eight or nine then, definitely not as old as ten, because it was autumn, and he hadn’t been shipped off to school. His entire body buzzed with excitement because he and his parents were taking a trip to London in his father’s gleaming black Mercedes. A car he was only allowed in on Sundays, and only if he promised not to fiddle with the doors, or windows and keep his grimy hands (usually sticky with whatever candy he’d stuffed into his suit jacket) off the shiny leather seats.  Though the tiny English village of Woolpit sat just 60 miles to the northeast of the big city, it might as well have been in another country.

Nothing ever happened in Woolpit, but London held the promise of a million adventures and endless possibilities—its where everyone dreamed of going one day. No one wanted to settle in dreary old Woolpit and become boring and stuffy like their parents. London was where you’d become a famous pop-star, or writer, or at the very least met the most beautiful girl in the universe who’d fall madly in love with you because you were so very charming and brave to leave everything to seek your fame.

How naïve he’d been. But then, wasn’t that the point of childhood? Everything being all shiny and hopeful before it all got ruined?

Michael shifted his head so he could see out the window.  His stomach tightened and he felt like he’d swallowed the very darkness as he remembered how the rest of that day had gone.

He remembered watching the English countryside give way to small buildings then larger ones, until finally he could make out the shape of Big Ben in the distance. He felt like shouting with excitement, completely oblivious to how quiet and grim his parents were in the front seat.  They never said exactly where in London they were headed, but Michael hoped they’d see a play or a film in Piccadilly, and get to eat in the fancy salon at the Savoy hotel, like that one time when he was only five, and he’d been allowed an extra scoop of ice cream because the waitress said “..adorable little boys always deserved two scoops”.

The car finally slowed and unable to contain his excitement he grinned happily at his father and asked if he’d get to have ice cream later. The cold look his father gave him, still made him shiver today. He rounded on him very sternly, anger and frustration flashing in his eyes.

“You are not here to have fun, or ice cream! Take that ridiculous smile off your face or I will leave you behind in this car!”

He’d been so shocked out of his mood his eyes immediately welled up with tears. His mother touched his father’s shoulder and whispered fiercely that “Michael doesn’t know…I haven’t told him.” But that only seemed to increase his father’s anger—now directed towards both of them. 

The car stopped and his father got out, giving the keys to a uniformed man. His mother turned and smiled thinly at him and motioned for him to get out as well. He looked up at the huge gorgeous cathedral looming in front of them and realized they were at Westminster Abby. He’d read about it in school and that’s where members of the royal family got married. He wondered if they were there for a wedding, but weddings were usually happy occasions.

Instead of going through the grand doors of St. Peters, they walked around to the smaller St. Margaret’s Church. Before they walked in, his mother pulled him aside and said very softly, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this Michael, but your grandfather died a few days ago, we thought it best to wait and tell you, but I shouldn’t have waited this long…he’s very happy now and  
peaceful…Michael!”

He pulled away, barreling into the church, and stopped when he saw sitting at the very front, near the pew, was an ornate coffin with a man laying perfectly still that looked very much like his grandfather. Maybe he screamed, he no longer remembers, but he knows he tried to run, and his father grabbed him forcefully by the arm and slapped him, telling him to stop being such an embarrassment. He started sobbing then, and wouldn’t stop. He was so angry, so confused. He loved his Grandfather, who even though he was very posh and even distantly related to royalty, never yelled at him, only smiled and ruffled his hair when he acted silly. Now he was gone, and they didn’t bother to tell him.

His mother pulled him out of the Church and held him outside on one of the stone benches as he sobbed. He doesn’t remember much about the rest of the day; perhaps they’d gone straight home.

He does remember he never trusted either one of his parents again.

Someone knocked at the door, pulling him away from the memory—he didn’t really know what made him think of it, except it was the first dead person he’d ever seen, and it was the first time he remembered his father being unreasonably cruel. 

Whoever it was knocked louder this time, and Michael forced himself off of the bed, his limbs a little wobbly from disuse. He already knew who it was of course.

He ran a hand through his mussed hair, and pulled the door open. “Oh, hello Mrs. Lawson…”

She smiled sweetly at him, but it didn’t hide the worry in her eyes. “Michael dear, I hate to be a bother, but you know how Mr. Lawson is, and your rent is late.”

He chewed a bit on his lip trying to keep his voice light. “Yes, I’m so sorry about that. My check is a little late, you see, but I promise to have it to you no later than Friday.”

She looked a little relieved, but not much. “Ok, now I can hold him off, but I don’t think I’ll be able to beyond Friday. I am sorry Michael, and I’d hate to lose you. You’ve given us no trouble so far, and you’re always quiet and respectful. Just…see that you give it to me no later than Friday.”

He nodded and managed a small smile. “You have my word.” 

She turned to leave, then stopped to half whisper “I’ve left you some cookies on the sideboard, take as many as you like.”

He gave her a genuine grin then and nodded. “Thank you Mrs. Lawson.”

He shut the door again, realizing how much of the day he’d wasted wallowing in self-pity. Of course his mood was really about what he’d been desperate enough to do the night before. He definitely wasn’t the first boy to try his hand at turning a trick for money—it’d just been harder and more soul-destroying than he’d thought—even just being on the receiving end. And for all his trouble, he was still £400 short for his rent.

He moved quickly before he changed his mind, grabbing his jacket off a hook. He had no real plan, but laying in his shabby room all day wasn’t accomplishing much.

 

* * *

 

Nigel was a patient man, or so he told himself and everyone around him often enough, but how many fuck-ups was he supposed to allow? Especially when the fuck-ups cost him cash. Maybe it wasn’t this little shit’s fault. That’s what he kept mumbling anyway, though it was getting harder to make out any words, with how swollen his lips and jaw were now, and then there were the missing teeth.

Pavel—Nigel’s second, stood impassively against the wall, rolling a cigarette, starting to looked bored.

“How long you gonna beat up on this stupid little fuck? We’re gonna be late.”

Nigel gave the “stupid little fuck” another kick; hard enough that he felt a few ribs crack beneath his boot. Satisfied, he stood up straight, brushing  
his long fringe out of his eyes.

“I think he fucking gets it now.”  He checked his shirt for any splatters of blood, satisfied they blended into the pattern well enough.

Without a second glance to the groaning figure on the floor, he nodded at Pavel. “Shall we?”

Pavel stepped aside to let him go out first. Shutting the door behind them. 

Nigel nodded to one of the men in the hall as they passed, motioning towards the door. 

“I want it fucking spotless when we get back.” and turned to follow Pavel out the back door.

 

**


	2. Chapter 2

_Camden is a pretentious shit-hole._ The thought repeated itself as Michael pushed his way through the midday crowd, full of wanna-be punks, hipsters, and tourists who read about how Camden is a ‘must see’ in the latest edition of Time Out London. It made little sense why he ended up there, except that Annie loved it. For her, the crowded market stalls off the High Street were exciting, colorful reminders of how carefree life could be one day. He often followed along behind her and she went through the overpriced wears, content to only look.  Whenever she caught the eye of a seller, she’d shake her head with that small smile of hers and say she could only afford to look today. Michael of course, never failed to surprise her once they returned home with some small trinket, or obnoxious t-shirt she lingered on longer than others. You’d have thought he’d given her the crown jewels the way she always squealed and squeezed the life out him.  His sweet Annie; always so easy to please. But he couldn’t afford to think about her—not now. The last time he indulged in those memories, they landed him in the corner of his room sobbing so hard he thought his entire body would split in two. If he allowed it to happen again, he feared he’d never come back.

He made to go across the canal, when he spotted a bar not far from the docks. It had the odd name of _Balaur Tavern_ , and looked busy but unassuming, unlike the flashier bars across the bridge. His skills were meager at best. Since his days at secondary school, he drifted from one ordeal to another, inking by on whatever odd job he could find.  In the early days, the only thing either of them needed was heroine and enough to afford whatever council flat they ended up in, but as time went on and Michael managed to get clean, he made sure Annie never got too sick, and neither of them went too hungry.

Annie never managed to quit. She promised endless times, but never made it through the front door of any methadone clinic. It frustrated him to no end. The very last words he ever spoke to her where angry and heated, full of accusations and disappointment. If he’d only known…he’d have held her instead and promised to go with her to the clinic the next day and try again.

Having once again sunk down into his thoughts, he passed the bar without realizing it and had to double back. Thoughts of Annie more and more took center stage in his mind these days. He didn’t know where to put them—he’d never dealt with them. But jail is hardly a place to get over the death of your girlfriend.  He took a deep breath, trying to quell the pounding in his chest. He needed to focus; he needed rent. His breakdown would have to wait. 

He waited outside the pub, trying to get a feel for the people coming and going. They seemed normal enough—the usual tattooed hipsters, and not too many tourists as far as he could tell. There was a menu tacked to the outside near the door, so at least they sold food. He didn’t think he could pass as a decent bartender, but he could probably serve, or bus tables.  He glanced at his shadowy reflection in the dark glass of the door. He quickly ran his fingers through his unruly long curls he hadn’t bothered to tame. He’d looked better, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now.  Michael squared his shoulders, squeezing his trembling fingers into fists and pushed through the door of the pub.

 

* * *

  

Donal Buckley was definitely _not_ a patient man. How could he keep a bar going if every other week a girl quit because Nigel fucked her within an inch of her life and then wouldn’t even look at her. The last one, who’s name he couldn’t even recall just called, screaming and crying about how their boss was a “fucking asshole” or whatever she called him between sobs—he could barely make it out. Not that he gave a toss about these chicks, but replacing them all the time was getting to be a pain. Their customers still expected to be waited on and its not like they couldn’t spit sideways and find another bar. Donal was never one to tell Nigel his business, but enough was enough. If this was his method of getting over his ex, Gabbie, bitch that she was—so be it, but for fuck-sake stay off the help. Fucking Russians, or Romanians, or whatever the hell place his crew came from.

The bell on the door banged loudly and for once it was quiet enough to hear it. There were only a smattering of people hanging in the back, it being right between the lunch time rush and after work crowd. Donal kept cleaning the glasses, not bothering to look up as whoever it was approached the bar.  

“What’ll ya have?”

“Um…”

Donal sighed, preparing to be annoyed when he saw that the small “um” came from some doe-eyed kid who was in bad need of a haircut.

The last thing he wanted to deal with was some teenage prat trying to snag a pint. “You old enough to drink, son?”

“Um, yes sir, I’m 20…21 soon. But I’m not here for a drink…”

Michael took a deep breath, trying to get his voice under control. He had no reason to be nervous. They’d say yes or no and if no, he’d move on. There was a bar every few feet in this part of town.

The surly looking bartender just raised a brow. For a second he reminded him of his grandfather—that stern gaze, that if you looked closely you’d see a bit of kindness beneath the gruff.

“I…I was wondering if you’re looking for any help…I mean, serving or…anything?”

Donal eyed him cautiously, sizing him up. “20 huh? You ever work in a bar before?”

“Yes sir. I mean not tending bar or anything, but I’ve served and bused tables before.”

“Hmm…” Well, he definitely wasn’t a girl, though in the right light he could probably pass for one with that hair. Nigel’s proclivities strayed now and again towards the prettier males—and he was that, but the kid probably didn’t swing that way. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t make the big fucking fuss most of these girls did. Nigel must have some magical cock.

“Just so happens, we have an opening. Can you start tonight? Nothing major, just bussing a bit until you get the hang of it.”

Michael is nodding before the ‘yes’ even makes it to his brain. He honestly didn’t think it’d be so easy. He’d mentally prepared himself not to go off the deep end if nothing came of today’s outing. He grinned openly and shook the bartender’s hand.

He had a firm shake for such a slight lad. Donal took notice of his inbred manners and wondered how he came to be begging for a job at a bar in the middle of Camden—unless he was one of those posers, out to prove themselves, away from their posh little homes in the country-side. But something about the overwhelming relief that colored the kid’s cheeks made Donal believe wherever he came from, this is where he ended up.

“Thank you so much sir!” There go the manners again.

“Yea, well hopefully we’ll both have something to be thankful for if you work out. Be back here at 7p sharp. No latter, or you can keep walking past the door. Clear?”

“Of course sir, I won’t be late. I’ll be back before 7.” Michael let his grin slip to a shy smile and walked quickly back the way he came before the bartender had a chance to change his mind.

 “Oy!” 

Michael stopped dead in his tracks. His heart hammering as his mind filled with dread.

“Sir?”

“What’s your name son?”

He let out the breath he was holding and grinned, laughing a bit.

“Oh! So sorry! Michael, sir, Michael Woodley”

Donal just nodded, returning to his previous task. “Ok, the name’s Donal. See you at 7.”

He didn’t bother to glance up again, so Michael hurried out the door, wondering if he had time to launder a shirt so he’d look a little presentable tonight.

 

* * *

 

“Fucking cocksuckers think they can try and back out of a deal!?” Nigel slammed the back door hard enough to rattle the walls. Pavel followed behind him trying to keep up. When Nigel was in a state he tended to move quickly and erratically. 

“Nigel…”

He stopped and spun around. “What?! Fucking what?!”

Pavel knew if he showed an ounce of fear or nerves it would spurn Nigel on—not that he was afraid—Nigel may have been on the far side of crazy but he was fiercely loyal, and Pavel had been by his side a long time.

“First, calm the fuck down. No one tried to back out of anything. All they said was they thought the price was a big high—”

“Fucking right its high! Do they think this shit grows on fucking trees?! They know a shipment was compromised, and didn’t he still get what I promised him?! Then the stupid cunt goes and complains…”

“Nigel, you know how he is. Why are you getting so worked up? He paid us didn’t he?”

Nigel smirked a bit “Fucking right he did. Go grab us a whiskey out front and meet me outback.”

Pavel just shook his head, rolling his eyes a bit, and made his way towards the bar. When Nigel was done ranting, it was like turning off a switch.

 

* * *

 

Michael definitely felt in over his head. The bar that sat half empty only a couple of hours ago was packed to the brim with bodies all demanding many pints and he struggled to keep up.  He tried to clear glasses and plates as quickly as they were emptied, but it was proving a losing battle. At least he hadn’t dropped or spilled anything and Donal had only thrown him one pointed stare, so maybe all wasn’t lost. To complicate an already complicated evening, a table full of girls kept calling him over for inane reasons; giggling and flirting shamelessly, and he was in no mood. He smiled as genuinely as he could and served them without complaint. At that point it’d gotten so busy, Donal decided to add server duties to his already overwhelming load, and he really just needed a smoke. Donal eventually took pity on his flustered state and told him to take a ten-minute break, but be back promptly or “he’d have his head.”

Michael wasted no time and nearly ran to the back doors, digging in his back pocket, praying he had at least one cigarette left. The air near any London river may be dank at best, but right now it smelled like a glorious field in the middle of Spring compared to the choking space inside. He leaned against the brick taking a long drag when a sound of a slamming door startled him. A man walked out into the tiny yard behind the bar, stopping dead when he saw Michael lurking to his left. Something in the man’s unwavering gaze, made him want to shrink into the bricks, or break into a run as he walked over quickly never breaking eye-contact. Michael swallowed hard, letting the cigarette that now threatened to burn his fingers, slip to the ground.

“And who the fuck are you?”

Michael’s eyes went wide and he felt his stomach drop. _What the hell?_ This man moved like a predator, and he knew he’d better answer fast, but his voice seemed to stuck in his throat.

“I…I’m…”

Donal chose that moment to burst through the back door. “Michael, I said 10 minutes and I wasn’t fucking kidding….Oh, hey Nigel, you’re back.”

“Yea, so I am, and who the fuck is this?”

“This, is Michael. New help around the bar. Hired him this afternoon.”

“What the fuck happened to Sheila?”

Donal sighed and tried his best not to look annoyed. “Sheila has decided to find other employment.” But Nigel didn’t miss the look Donal leveled at him.

Nigel smirked and shrugged lightly. “Fucking shame.”

He took in Michael for the first time, and relaxed a bit as his smirk turned into almost a smile, offering his hand.

Michael had seen that look before too, and now he really wanted to run. But he tried his best to return the smile and shook Nigel’s hand.

“Well darling, I sure as fuck hope you’re old enough to serve, woudn’t want you getting me in trouble now.”

Michael nodded. “Um, yes sir, I’m old enough.”

Nigel snorted a bit. “Polite as fuck too. Oh sorry I’m being rude. I’m Nigel as you’ve probably gathered, and this is my place. So where you from darling?”

Donal decided to interject. “Uh, Nigel, it’s a packed house tonight and I really need the kid back inside.”

“Of course, of course, only trying to get to know my new employee.” He smiled down at Michael

“I may be the boss, but what Donal says goes, so I’ll talk to you later.”

Michael hurried through the back door having no time to figure out why his heart was hammering in his chest.

Nigel watched him go with a raised brow, and Donal sighed heavily.

“For fucks sake Nigel, I got a bloke this time so maybe you’d keep it in your pants for once.”

Nigel slipped his arm around Donal’s shoulder, positively grinning now.

“Well, my friend, you should have found one that wasn’t so fucking pretty.”

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

Its been an insanely hectic three days, but Michael welcomed the kinetic frenzy, anything to keep his mind occupied. He’d been at the bar since the Saturday brunch rush, volunteering to work a double shift, until he figured out what to do. Not that he had many options.

After a couple of days and grueling shifts, the work got easier, and he got quicker, even becoming adept at taking orders while dodging flirting girls and the occasional guy. His tips began to grow—the upside of being near a tourist area since most Brits don't tip, but despite his best efforts it wasn’t enough to prevent the inevitable.

Friday found him only a hundred pounds short of his goal, and he hoped, with the news of his new job and a promise to have the rest by Monday, it’d be enough. Unfortunately, his landlady’s husband had already made up his mind. Tourist season was in full swing and he could make more money renting the flat out weekly to visitors than letting Michael stay on a month-to-month basis. They’d let him stay the night, but Saturday morning saw him packing his meager possessions and walking to his morning shift with them slung over his back. He’d stashed his bundle in the store room between boxes of liquor, but still had no idea what he’d do once the pub closed.  

At 2am the last customer stumbled out the door, and Michael, though nearly dead on his feet, went about clearing the remaining tables. Donal watched him curiously. He’d assumed the kid wanted the extra shift for money, but he sure wasn’t paying him overtime to wipe tables past his shift. 

“Hey, Michael..why don’t you head out. Its late. You did good today, take the afternoon off tomorrow, I’ll see you back here just before the dinner crowd.”

Panic squeezed his chest. Did he honestly think a plan would miraculously come to him once his time at the pub ended? He supposed he could try and find a cheap motel to crash in, but at 2am that may be a little difficult and his money would run out quickly after a few nights of that.

“I can finish here, I don’t mind, honestly.”

Donal just shook his head at his earnestness. “Fuck off home Michael, or hit an after-hours. Get laid or something kid. Since I hired you, you’ve spent every minute here. Surely a good-looking kid like you, judging by the extra tables of young girls we’ve been getting lately, would have no problems there.”

Michael blushed clear to the tips of his ears. He’d nearly forgotten about sex; it’d be so long since he—he shook his head. Sex was the least of his problems.

“Uh, yea, ok. I’ll just get my stuff. See you tomorrow then.”

Maybe he could squeeze himself between the boxes of Guiness and Jack Daniels. It’d be better than the park at least. The panic he’d been holding back all day now threatened to spill over. He slung his bag over his shoulder, setting his mind firmly on auto-pilot. Once he walked out the back door, and the early Spring night air ripped through his thin jacket chilling him to his bones, he faltered again and didn’t make it past the back steps of the pub. He rested his head against his knees trying not to think about how truly fucked he was. From the steps he could see across the small river that ran along the back of the pub. A few people strolled along the bridge—dark shadows illuminated by the shimmering lights from square reflected in the black pool of water. Annie always stopped on that bridge, and he always looked down, trying to see past the muck to the bottom of the river, wondering how long it would take someone to find him if he fell and sank to the bottom. He snapped his head up because he hadn’t thought that back then, but he definitely was thinking it now. He stood up abruptly, taking no particular direction, as long as it moved him away from the river bank.

He shoved his hands deeper in his pocket, trying to ward off some of the cold, when he felt something small and metallic. Donal gave him a key earlier to take trash out the side door because it locked from the inside. He forgot to give it back. Maybe the universe hadn’t given up on him yet.

He walked around the building, hoping Donal left already, and slipped the key into the lock. The hallway was blissfully empty and he crept along quietly towards the back office where a sofa and an old heater resided. He could crash there for the night and figure something out in the morning.

Fatigue must have finally caught up with him because as he rounded a corner, he failed to notice a door sat slightly ajar. It registered too late for him to hurry past it without looking in, because _fuck_ , he really wished he had. Inside, a handful of men wrapped and sorted large white packages that Michael knew were full of heroin. The effect was sudden and paralyzing. It’d been almost a year and he wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming need that spread warm through his belly and pulled at every muscle in his body. _When did he get a fucking break!?_ He slammed his head against the wall, trying to remember how to move, because he clearly shouldn’t be there. Did he make a noise? He must have because now there was a hand around his throat, pushing him into the wall, demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nigel hurrying up the hall. He hadn’t seen him since his first day out back, and now he didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad that he suddenly reappeared.

“What the fuck Pavel? Get off him!”

Pavel didn’t move. “Since when do you let little junkie fucks hang around here?”

“He works here Pavel. Look, I’m not usually the one telling you to calm the fuck down.”

Pavel finally let him go, but his hand was quickly replaced by Nigel’s as he pulled him down the hall by the neck, shoving him into a room. The seams were bursting; he couldn’t hold it together, it was all too much. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, wanting to disappear.

“What the fuck are you doing here darling? Someone send you to spy on me?”

Michael shook his head quickly. “No…I just wanted somewhere to sleep…I didn’t…I didn’t know..”

He looked up at Nigel finally, and judging by how quickly his anger seemed to bleed out, he must have been crying. He honestly couldn’t; tell. Nigel guided him over to a sofa and knelt in front of him. He brushed his thumb across his cheeks, wiping a tear away.

“Hey, gorgeous….whats going on? You don’t have a place to stay?”

Michael took a deep breath, trying to get his trembling under control. He felt like an idiot. “No, I mean I did…but I lost my place this morning….I didn’t know what to do, I was just going to sleep on the sofa in the office. I didn’t know about the…about your business. I don’t care, I just….I mean I used to…and I was surprised and…”

Nigel pulled him into an embrace, and Michael melted into it. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone held him, or the last time anyone even touched him. Even Annie had been too wrapped up in her own pain to offer him any comfort, and he didn’t’ blame her. Now this man—this strange, aggressive man was the first person to offer him a moment where he didn’t have to hold himself together—and he’d probably regret it later, but he needed it more than he realized.

Nigel cursed softly under his breath. This fucking kid was going to be end of him, he knew it. Of course he had to have these big fucking blue eyes that belonged on a fucking angel. And he guessed he’d been on the wrong end of what was in that room before. Nigel believed pretty strongly that shit didn’t just happen. Maybe the kid found his way there for a reason.

He lifted his chin and peered down at him with a toothy smile. “I guess life is kicking the shit out of you right now huh, darling? We can talk about what you didn’t see in that room in the morning. For now, come with me. I’ve got plenty of room. You stay in the guest room, or mine of you’re not up for sleeping alone..”

Michael tensed a little. “Hey now, I’m not a fucking monster. You look like you don’t need to be alone tonight. I know how to be a gentleman and keep my fucking hands to myself if that’s what you want.”

Michael nodded. He was just so tired, he didn’t care where he went, he just wanted to close his eyes.

“I’ll deal with Pavel. He’s just being a good employee. You’ll get to know him.”

He led Michael out the door. “My place is the top two floors next door. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”

Nigel ushered him towards an elevator he never realized was there and led the way to his two-story penthouse. He really hoped this was a good idea.

 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming I promise :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since life keeps interfering with me posting this (Thurs spent much of the night in the ER and was too tired yesterday to do much of anything) I'm posting 3 short chapters instead of the 2 long ones I have edited. I'll have the rest this evening (fate willing). Thanks for tall the kudos and kind comments so far, I know this is a very rare pairing, so thanks for taking a chance :)

Nigels’ place was a study in dark colors. The space looked like a converted warehouse, with its large rooms, floor to ceiling arched windows, some exposed brick, and pipes overhead. It was all black and charcoal walls, with brown and deep red leather accents, but something about the sensual curve of the sofas and chairs, and the over-polished silver vases, some stuffed with fake flowers in red and dark purple, to inject some cheer he imagined seemed off, like masculinity imagined by a feminine hand.  It tried hard to mimic a chic London loft space, and never quite lived up to what it should be. It represented someone’s attempt to re-create something they saw in a magazine without any real personal charm. He doubted Nigel had much to do with the space—Nigel was nothing if not singularly himself. Though everything did look expensive, and he imagined it was, but much to his surprise, there was his mother’s frowning brow, shaking her head declaring most of it “tacky”.  Michael inwardly cringed, because more than anything, he hated when evidence of his upbringing reared its ugly head uninvited. But they were only thoughts, with no real emotion behind them. The couch looked like heaven and he’d happily sink into it if Nigel left him to his own devices.

Nigel led him up a flight of stairs to the bedrooms on the 2nd floor.

“The guest room is just over there—this is my room, which has the best bathroom. If you want to take a shower, or soak on the tub, go ahead.” 

Michael stood in the doorway, hesitating, and Nigel added, with a slight smile. “Or there’s a perfectly good bathroom just at the end there, but the water pressure is a fucking joke.” 

A hot bath did sound perfect, and he already accepted his invitation to stay in his home, there was no point in being overly cautious now. 

Nigel slipped his arm around him. “Stop being shy darling…go, make yourself at home. I need a fucking drink. Towels in there.” 

He pointed towards a closet and left Michael on his own while he went downstairs.

** 

The bathroom was huge and covered from floor to ceiling in dark marble tile. He turned the taps on in the over-sized soaker tub and stripped off his clothes. It’d been ages since he had a real bath. The lukewarm trickling shower in his flat always left him chilled to the bone and he never felt quite clean enough. He sat on the edge of the tub completely naked, letting the almost hot water roll over his feet. The bottles of shampoo along the rim rattled faintly in time to his still trembling body. Why did it have to be heroin? A room full of weed he could handle—booze didn’t ever give him much trouble, but he’d avoided being anywhere near the white powder since he quit. Sometimes he’d find a tiny bag of the stuff that Annie had stashed away, but he stayed strong for her. Now….what reason did he have? He sank into the tub while the water continued to rise, letting all the pain of the past few months—few years if he was being honest, wash over him. He wanted to feel everything until there was nothing left. Just numbness. Then maybe he could figure out how to move forward again.

Michael emerged from the bathroom with a plush gray towel loosely wrapped around his waist, drying his hair. The room was still empty, so he sat on Nigel’s bed to wait. The mattress felt plush with just the right amount of give beneath him. Curious, he laid back, nearly moaning when his back melded into the mattress. It felt amazing. He closed his eyes as his tired muscles stretched out and he was asleep before the last exhale left his lungs.

 

* * *

“Fucking hell. Am I supposed to be a goddamn saint made of fucking iron now?!”  Nigel whispered fiercely as he walked into his room, half drunken glass of whiskey in his hand.

There sprawled across the stupid fucking comforter Gabby picked out was a lithe perfect angel completely naked beneath a loosely fitting towel. Nigel cursed again, and gently tried to move him, half-hoping he’d wake up. But the kid was dead to the world and didn’t so much as stir. _Of fucking course_.

He lifted him with ease, though the taught muscles along his thin frame did surprise him and if the little twitch of his cock was any indication, delighted him as well.

He placed Michael under the covers, then pulled his towel away while the comforter still covered him. Then Nigel figured since he needed to take care of his growing problem anyway, he might as well get a good image to fuel his imagination. He lifted the covers just as the kid turned to lie on his stomach. He smiled. The kid had a nice sized cock on him and a sweet ass. He tossed the covers back down and went to turn on the shower.

* * *

All his dreams that night were full of dark shadows and faint whispers— nothing corporeal enough to grasp. They moved through his mind like ugly smoke, leaving an overwhelming dread and longing behind. But nothing could keep him from his much-needed slumber. His body was far too exhausted to even wake itself when the dreams proved to be too frightening. Instead he just twitched in his sleep, occasionally releasing a whimper. Nigel watched his fitful sleep most of the night, having never needed much sleep himself. Maybe it was his hearty Slavic stock, but he could get by just fine on four hours or less. So he watched the boy fighting some unseen villain; while running his fingers through his now silken (thanks to the expensive floral shit Gabby left behind) curls, calming him towards deeper sleep.

Michael woke, bolting upright in a fit of confusion. He looked around wildly until the previous night slowly came back to him. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, now aware of a soft snoring to the right of him. Panic seized him as he took in a sleeping, very bare skinned Nigel sleeping next to him. Why was Nigel in the guest room, in bed with him? But he never made it to the guestroom did he? The last thing he remembered was laying back on the heavenly mattress in Nigel’s room and—he must have fallen asleep.

Pulling back the covers offered another cause for alarm; he’s completely naked. He just shook his head and sighed spotting the tossed aside towel laying on a chair. He stood up letting the sheet slide off of him and walked towards the chair.

“Well, that’s a lovely sight to wake up to. Bună Ziua gorgeous.”

Michael quickly grabbed the towel and quickly secured it around his waist. His blush spread all the way from the tip of his ears to his chest.

“Um, Hi…sorry for falling asleep on your bed, I guess I was a lot more tired than I thought.”

Nigel sat up yawning, but the perpetual smile never leaving his face. “Not a problem at all. Bed is plenty big enough like I said. Hope you don’t mind,”   
He gestured to Michael’s current state of undress, “I didn’t bother trying to dress you. Were you warm enough?”

“Yea, yea, its fine…” He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do now, he couldn’t remember where he’d left his bag.

Nigel got up, walking to bathroom, completely unabashed about his own nudity.

“Well I’m gonna take a piss. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Coffee is on the counter.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and Michael suddenly became aware he’d been staring the whole time.

 

**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've seen Hugh's ep of Kavanagh QC I apologize for the backstory, but i can't assume everyone has:)
> 
> Also, i've decided Nigel can cook

**Beautiful Art of one of my favorite scenes in this chapter by the wonderful @TheSeaVoices !!**

It took about ten minutes to figure out how the coffee grinder worked, and he had no idea how to brew coffee in that metal thing that sat on top of the stove. He gave up and poured himself a glass of water while he looked for something edible in the fridge. The kitchen was an odd mixture of polished steel, concrete and black stone. The fridge was massive, which proved to be a tease as there wasn’t much in it. He pulled out a block of cheese, and some eggs, thinking maybe he could make an omelet. Not that he knew how to make an omelet, but how hard could it be? He sighed and sank onto a stool. Maybe cereal was safer.

Nigel comes down and surveys the sullen boy sitting on the stool, next to a carton of eggs, nibbling on a piece of cheese. Coffee grounds are sitting in the grinder and his stove top cezve is abandoned next to it. He chuckles softly.

“So you’re not a fucking gourmet I see?”

Michael looks up and grimaces a bit, shaking his head. “Sorry, I don’t really cook.”

Nigel raises an eyebrow and goes to work pouring water into the little pot, adding the ground coffee to the water, then sitting the whole thing back on the stove, alighting the flame.

Michael looks a bit perplexed, and he explains. “Its Turkish coffee. The best fucking coffee you can drink. Not that watery shit they serve in those pussy little coffee shops all over London. If you’ve never had it before you’re in for a real fucking treat.” 

He pulls out another pan and throws it on the stove, lighting the flame under it, and pulls down a bowl from the shelf and starts cracking eggs into it. Michael watches the efficient way he begins making their breakfast, suitably impressed, even if its only eggs and coffee.

“Now after breakfast, we have a lot to talk about. Understand?”

Michael nodded, not bothering to say anything. He knew they had to talk given what happened last night. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to it, but he’d rather just get it over. If he needed to leave, he would. He’d figure out what to do somehow.

**

They ate mostly in silence. Maybe his lack of eating a decent meal in a while made him biased, but the eggs were a delicious, buttery, wonder with some of the cheese he’d been nibbling on thrown in. He also decided he loved Turkish coffee, and if it were polite, he’d grab another cup.

Nigel put his cup down and looked directly at him, and motioned for him to move over to the nearby living room area. Michael knew it was time to talk.

He sat on the far end of soft leather sofa and Nigel took the overstuffed leather chair closest to him. So much for creating a safe distance.

“Look, we both know what you saw last night, and I’m not in the habit of ever fucking explaining myself. You know what it means.”

Michael nodded, but stayed quiet, trying to keep his eyes focused on Nigel and not retreat back into himself.

“I just need to know I can trust you. I have a good sense about people, and I feel like I can, but you’re a sweet kid and I don’t want you mixed up in things you can’t handle.”

Michael scoffed a bit, and said quietly “I’m not that sweet.”

Nigel smirked a bit and reached over and moved his fallen locks out of his face.

“You’re practically a pup, puiule.” He paused having a feeling what he was referring to. “When were you addicted to that stuff?”

His eyes widened a bit, and he couldn’t stop the shame from coloring his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant, but, its been over a year. I thought it was over.”

Nigel gently lifted his chin. “Its never over darling, but what did you mean?”

“I..” Nigel was a drug dealer and God knows what else, it’s not like he could shock him. “I was in jail, six months go.”

Whatever he expected, it wasn’t that. “What? For what?”

“Murder….I was awaiting trial for murder. I didn’t do it…” Michael sighed. He needed to start from the beginning. “Do you have a cigarette? I mean can I smoke in here?”

Nigel got up to grab his smokes. So his little bird had gone to prison. The kid was more interesting than he imagined.

Once he’d taken a long drag on the cigarette, he looked up and Nigel and began to explain.

“I had a girlfriend. Annie, she died…we were living together in an old council flat. It had one of those old gas heaters, it never worked properly, always leaking gas. We had a pretty bad row—I was just frustrated and I guess, pretty tired myself. It was a lot, taking care of both of us.”

His hands shook a bit, and he could feel himself getting upset, but he kept going.

“We left our home town right after we finished school. We were both seventeen, and I’d gotten her pregnant. God we were stupid—we thought we could do it, you know, get married maybe and take care of the kid, but her parents and my parents forced her to get rid of it. She was never really the same after that. She lit a fire at the clinic after she had the abortion—but I took the blame. I didn’t think she could handle a trial or anything. There wasn’t one, I got off, and we left….but London isn’t…it wasn’t easy. We fell into a dark place, started taking heroin. It grips you so fast, I had no idea…I should have protected her.”

Nigel leaned over and brushed a tear away. “Hey….you don’t have to..”

Michael shook his head, and kept going. “Annie got so bad, that I stopped, I couldn’t take care of her if I was high all the time. We wouldn’t make it. I was ok, doing well with methadone, I tried to get her to go, she kept promising….I should…I should have seen…she gave up. After we had that fight, I walked out on her. I was so fucking angry, just at everything, not really her. I came right back, but it was too late. She’d locked the door—I saw her through the letter box…she lit a match, and the next thing I remember I was on the ground and our whole place was on fire.”

Nigel reached over and pulled him into his lap. Michael was sobbing now and he just held him and rubbed his back gently.

“I said I killed her, I felt so guilty it felt like I had. I refused to talk for a while. I didn’t really want to live, I guess. But I couldn’t keep lying…they acquitted me. I went home, but I don’t belong there. I don’t know where I belong.”

Nigel just held him, shushing him gently, knowing he was well fucked. His heart ached for this kid already. He was tough as shit, and never flinched on killing a man when he needed to, but hard-ass that he was, his big stupid fucking sloppy heart ruined him every time. Gabby knew it, and she played it against him. Now this sweet little bird that materialized from nowhere had him. He fucking had him.

It wasn’t lost on Michael that the only person who managed to comfort him was a Romanian criminal that loved to curse. No idea what that said about him, but right now he didn’t care. He just wanted to sit there and not feel so scared all the time. He relaxed into Nigels’ arms—the release left him feeling exhausted all over again. Nigel gently ran his fingers over his face and through his hair and felt good, though he couldn’t ignore the thing that now pressed against his thighs.

Michael looked at him cautiously, his face still flushed and wet with drying tears.

“Are you getting hard?”

Nigel chuckled lightly. “Hey I’m no fucking saint. You feel good on my lap. Sorry darling. Does it bother you?”

Michael shook his head and leaned back against his shoulder. It probably should bother him, but it didn’t.

“I let a guy give me a blow-job a few days ago.”

Nigel turned to look at him, a small smirk dancing on his lips. “Did you like it?”

“I got hard, and came, but no, he was gross, I just did it for the cash. It wasn’t worth it.”

Nigel’s smile grew wider. _This fucking kid._ He put his hand lightly on his thigh.

“Well gorgeous, if you let me, one day I’ll make it completely worth it.”

Michael sat up and looked Nigel; really looked at him, not shying away this time. He pulled gently on his graying fringed and nodded.

He laid back against him and said “Ok.”

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times comes next I promise, but i can't really force it:)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> puiule means 'young boy' technically, but its used as a term of endearment in Romanian

“Michael! Quickly please!” Donal shouted across the room, indicating a tray of drinks still sitting on the bar.

“Sorry!” he ran over dodging the ever increasing crowd. Tourist season was hitting its crescendo, and they’d hired a temporary server to help him out, but somehow he still managed to be slower than he needed to be. Despite having a comfortable, warm bed to sleep in for a week, he still wasn't getting enough rest. Every morning he woke up tired and groggy, plagued with too many dreams he couldn’t remember, with their dreary remnants lingering throughout the day. Though no longer having to go home to a tiny empty hovel, did improve his general mood. Nigel didn’t exactly keep regular hours, but then neither did he. He was usually curled up on the sofa with a book when Nigel strolled in, often in the middle of the night. They'd sit up talking for while, sometimes sharing a glass of beer or whiskey, while Nigel regaled him with stories of his insanely wild youth in Bucharest. These were the few times he actually smiled, and he worried about getting too complacent. He couldn’t take advantage of his hospitality indefinitely, but Nigel always waved away his concern when he asked how long he could stay, saying he liked the company.

He learned after a glass or two of whiskey one night in particular, that Nigel had a past love as well. Their relationship ended less dramatically than his and Annie’s, she simply took off with another guy.

_“That’s stupid bitch is hardly worth thinking about, but you know how it fucking is Michael, don’t’ you?”_

He also learned that Nigel wasn’t much for boundaries and thought nothing of walking around naked. He’d come downstairs in the morning more than once to find Nigel making coffee in that little pot, completely naked with his hair hanging messily in his face. Michael found he didn’t mind the view, which surprised him. He never thought much about naked men, but then his life hadn’t left much room to wonder about anything sexual. Heroin tended to decrease the libido to almost non-existence, so he and Annie rarely had sex. Aside from the intense couple months when they were first together as teens, which resulted in the pregancy, they were hardly expressive physically. She’d been his first, so he definitely hadn’t explored much. All he knew at the moment was that Nigel’s taught bum, and broad pecs stirred him in places he’d almost forgotten about. Nigel still hadn’t made good on his promise. Michael smiled a little to himself at the thought of maybe having Nigel give him a proper blow-job that didn’t make him feel ill.

He delivered the tray of drinks, ready to take the next order, when he caught Donal’s eye. If Donal knew he’d been staying with Nigel, he didn’t’ say anything. But he was positive he knew, since he seemed to know everything. Often when he caught Michael being distracted at work, Donal shot a knowing look his way that made his cheeks heat up--he’d quickly look away. Today he gave him a little frown followed by a raised eyebrow, which made Michael turn quickly to the next table avoiding Donal completely.

The evening passed quickly and midnight arrived sooner than he expected. This time Michael was grateful not to be working until close. He closed out his bills and headed towards the back elevator, avoiding the hallway he now knew was off limits. Nigel didn’t mention his side business again, and Michael didn’t bring it up. Truthfully he’d rather forget about what sat in obscene abundance in that room.

He took a very long hot shower as soon as he got in, preferring still to use Nigel’s bathroom, and by-passed reading completely to dive straight into bed. He'd made himself at home in the guest room after the first night, not wanting to become a burden so early in his stay. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but his sleep was restless at best. The nightmares were more intense than usual, causing Michael to wake up just past 3am gasping for air with sweat streaming down his face. He’d dreamt of Annie again, but this time she looked like the charred corpse he’d merely gotten a glimpse of after the explosion. She looked like a reanimated burnt nightmare, while held him down, angrily throwing accusations at him as she inserted a IV full of heroin into his veins. He woke just as she smiled a toothless, black grin telling him she’d see him soon.

He walked down the hall to the second bathroom, trembling violently. He pulled his t-shirt off dumping it on the floor and splashed water on his face. He just stood there for a long time, trying desperately to make the image leave his mind, but it just played on a constant loop. Being back in that room alone terrified him now, and he knew there was no way he'd ever fall back to sleep. He thought of going downstairs to read, but he honestly needed to try and get at least a few hours in. He took a deep breath and headed towards Nigel’s room, praying he’d already gotten home.

The door stood half ajar, and pushed it open slowly. The windows were covered in dark curtains, blocking out any light from the city outside, but he could almost make out Nigels lump under the covers once his eyes adjusted, but he didn’t enter the room. He sensed that Nigel wasn’t someone you should surprise while asleep. He whispered his name as loudly as he dared, and Nigel stirred the second time. He blinked up and him sleepily and did utter a sound-- just pulled the covers back and motioned for him to get in. Michael didn't hesitate and climbed in, pressing his body against Nigel, who encircled his arms around him, holding him snuggly against his chest. He was asleep in minutes. 

* * *

 

He woke a few hours later from a dreamless sleep, to Nigel leaning over him seemingly content to just watch him as he slept. He looked up and smiled slightly, not breaking eye contact.

Nigel brushed his hair out of his eyes, one of his favorite things to do, and returned the smile, though it was tinged with something close to worry.

“You’re fucking beautiful you know that?”

His smile grew wider and he shook his head. Who thinks of themselves as beautiful. Maybe he was still dreaming. The Nigel leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose.   
  
“Well you fucking are.”

He turned to look at Nigel, feeling warm and content, and maybe a little hard. He could lay there the rest of the day if he were allowed. Then he remembered Nigel’s promise. He reached under the covers and divested himself of his boxers before he could think about it too hard. Nigel watched him growing curious.

“And what are you doing darling?”

 _I have no idea._ “You promised you’d..um, make it worth it.”

Nigel laughed loudly, almost collapsing on his pillow. It was shocking and joyous together. He thinks its first time he’d ever heard him laugh.

“So my little _puiule_ woke up horny huh?” He looked under the covers still laughing, and Michael immediately hated his tendency to blush.

“Well, you’re half way there, lets see if I can make it go all the way.” Nigel reached behind him and pulled out a small bottle of lotion. He saw the way Michael’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Relax darling, its just lotion. I’m going to use my hands first Ok, then see where things take us.”

Michael nodded quickly, feeling less brazen now that he was fully awake.

Nigel knew he couldn't get overly worked up, or he'd scare the kid way;  he needed to keep himself calm, even though he was about to touch his gorgeous boy in a way he’d only thought about while bringing himself off in the shower. Judging by the soft hitch of the kid’s breath, as he leaned over him, he needed to go slow.

He gently took hold of his cock after coating his hand lightly with lotion, and moving it up and down his shaft slowly, pulling the skin over the sensitive head, just letting him get used to the feeling until he relaxed. Michael’s cheeks flushed dark, and his breathing grew deeper as his cock came alive in his hand. He didn’t bother holding back a moan as he arched into Nigel’s hand letting his head push back against the pillow. How was Nigel better at this than he was? He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive tip, making Michael gasp and moan loudly. He knew the kid wouldn’t last much longer, which was his goal. It was better to get one orgasm over with before he went down on him. And _fuck_ if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen writhing beneath him. He pushed the skin back and moved his hand over the sensitive tip and that’s all it took. Michael came quickly leaking cum all over Nigel’s hand and his belly. He looked down at himself slightly embarrassed, but Nigel kissed him lightly on the lips and grabbed the towel he’d left on the floor after his shower and cleaned him up.

Michael went to say something, but Nigel kissed his lips to quiet him.

“I’m not fucking done with you yet gorgeous.” Nigel pulled back the covers and pushed his legs apart, nuzzling his face between his legs. Michael squeezed his eyes tightly and tried to breath. Soon a warm, wet delicious heat engulfed his cock and he nearly pulled his hips up off the bed, but Nigel held him firmly in place as he worked him over with his tongue and mouth. He didn’t think the kid could handle a gentle scraping of teeth yet. Michael moaned and panted loudly, words coming out half formed between breathes. His fingers pulled on Nigel’s hair tightly not sure he wanted him to go faster or stop completely. He never found his answer because moments later he was coming loudly down Nigel’s throat as he took in all of him, not letting go until he was completely spent. Michael collapsed back into the bed, completely boneless with a half smile on his flushed, sweat drenched face. Nigel leaned over him and licked his mouth, and he didn’t mind the taste of himself. Nigel laid back on the bed, pulling Michael against his chest, stroking his cheek gently.

“Good?”

Michael nodded into his chest hair. “Fucking worth it.”

 

**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the long wait. I've finally gotten ahead of myself so I'll update every 2 days until its finished. Thanks for reading and comments are always happiness.

The next time he woke, the scales had tumbled from his eyes. Nigel no longer laid beside him and for that he was grateful. He stood, not bothering to get dressed and walked to the window. It faced the canal that ran through town, but far enough away that he doubted anyone could make out the naked boy standing in the window. He’d just let someone he hardly knew bring him to orgasm—an incredible, intense, messy orgasm. He felt what little of himself he thought he knew slipping away. Or maybe he never really knew himself at all. So far, he’d been reacting to life, never planning, never really thinking further than the next five minutes. That way of thinking so far made him a drug addict, accused of murder, and now living in the home of a Romanian drug dealer—and who knows what else; slowly becoming his lover. He reached deep down trying to figure out what he truly felt, but came up empty. He leaned his head against the cold, damp glass, watching the sky mist over as the sun slipped away, welcoming the night far too soon.

He moved away from the window and went to take a shower. As he stepped under the spray, he still felt the ghost of Nigel’s touch on him and he watched as his cock filled to a half-hard state. Was this real then? His desire had been dormant for so long, could he trust it? He leaned against the tile, hand immediately going to his cock. He found his rhythm quickly and the minute he imagined Nigel’s warm hot tongue licking his length, he came against the tiles, biting back a loud moan. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was real. It felt good, and he had little reason to feel good lately.

* * *

“You need some new clothes darling.”

Michael finally made it downstairs. As he walked into the kitchen, Nigel noticed a general timidity had returned to his movements. Michael sat at a stool at the far end of the kitchen island and merely raised an eyebrow, quickly glancing down at his slightly worn and too big polo shirt.

Nigel moved back and forth between the fridge and the stove, looking over his shoulder, motioning to Michael’s person while he prepared breakfast.

“I’ve seen you in maybe two shirts since I’ve known you.”

Michael frowned slightly. “Three. Well, four if you count the t-shirt I wear to bed.”

“Exactly. You have the day off, go buy some clothes. I’ll give you cash.” Nigel turned to look at him finally, putting what looked like frittata with potato and onions, on two plates.

Michael looked a bit affronted. “I have money; I mean you do pay me.”

“Don’t get all offended gorgeous.” Nigel came around to stand in front of him, brushing his hair lightly out of his face. Michael tensed a little, but didn’t pull away.

“You Ok?”

He nodded. “Yea, sorry, just…I don’t…” His face flooded with color, and he cursed his propensity to blush over next to nothing.

Nigel looked him in the eyes, softening his gaze. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want. Or stop completely. Its up to you. I love making you feel good, but I only want you to be comfortable. Don’t worry so much.” He smiled and lightly tapped his nose, then pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet and stuffed into his jeans “Now, eat. You’re a fucking waif.”

* * *

He set out on the main High Street, determined to take Nigel’s advice. Maybe it was his subtle way of telling him he looked a bit shabby to be working in his bar. He admittedly never paid much attention to what he wore. Growing up it was all uniforms or whatever his mother bought for him; he never questioned any of it, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he did. Most of the boys in his area dressed in the same jeans, button-downs and polos, with the occasional rugby or football shirt thrown in. He’d taken very little with him when he left, just enough to fill a small duffle. Now, as he approached Camden Market, he’d actually have to think about what he liked. He tried to pick up clues from the people crowding the square, but nothing really appealed to him. They all seemed to put a lot more thought and care into their outfits than he ever intended to.

He wandered into the first shop he saw where the clothes didn’t look like they came from a 1960’s film, called ironically, _ModFather_. He’d left Nigel’s wad of money back at the flat, so he prayed nothing was too expensive. He grabbed two short sleeved button-downs, one navy and one blue plaid, and a knit black long-sleeved pullover. He tried one shirt on, surprised at how narrow the cut was, but maybe that was how shirts were now. He paid for them quickly and tried not to blanch too badly when the total for 3 shirts came to £130. Maybe he’d just get a new pair of jeans at the Gap. While he waited for them to wrap up his purchases in unnecessary tissue paper he heard someone excitedly calling his name.

“Michael! Is that really you?”

He turned around, completely perplexed, wondering who’d would know him here. Then as the guy rounded the corner he saw it was Jordon, a passive-aggressive asshole from school. He’d always been pretty affable and got along with everyone, so he rarely had any trouble socially in school. But there were always the few who were put out by everyone liking him and tried their best to knock him down a few pegs in their own snide little ways. Jordon was the king of this tactic. He didn’t have to guess why he was so excited to run into him now.

“Oh, hello Jordon. What brings you around here?” He smiled easily out of habit.

“Well, I heard about this place and thought I’d get a few things before I took off on Holiday. School’s just ended. Oh—I’m reading Law at Oxford. God, its been ages hasn’t it?!”

Michael nodded, and accepted his now wrapped and bagged purchases and went to move closer to the door.

“It has. Well I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Jordon pulled his face into a look of concern. “So, I did hear about the whole business with you and that girl. I mean we were shocked of course, and believe me, no one thought for a minute you did it. Who was more easy-going than you?! So I’m glad that got sorted out. We did wonder where you’d disappeared to. My sister said she heard you were back in Woolpit. Are you just here for the day?”

Michael carefully steadied his nerves, quickly manifesting in anger and a need to punch this idiot in the face. He couldn’t keep up the pretense of friendliness anymore so he dropped the smile.

“No, I live here now. I work in the pub across the bridge. So I really should head back.”

Jordon tried to hide his pleased expression by deepening his frown.

“I get it mate, I do. I’m sure you need a bit of a break before you go back to University. Where were you going by the way? I always assumed I’d see you walking the halls of Oxford with me.”

He felt the anger rising and knew he needed to get out of there. “I’m sorry Jordon, but I really do have to go. It was nice running into you. Tell your sister I said hello.”

He turned and walked out the door without turning back for a response.

He walked quickly forcing his mind to go blank, as he walked into the Gap and grabbed a pair of jeans that were more or less his size. He left the shop quickly after he paid, deciding his little excursion was done for the day and headed towards the bar. He walked in the front door, hoping Donal would give him a drink if he asked, to hopefully calm down a bit before he headed upstairs completely alone. Nigel left before he did earlier, and as usual, he didn’t ask where he was going, part of him didn’t want to know, but the longer he stayed—he knew he couldn’t be blind to it all much longer.

**

“Done some shopping I see?” Donal went to pour him a pint, looking first at Michael for approval. Michael shook his head. 

“A whiskey please.”

Donal smirked. “So the young man wants to grow some hair on his chest.”

He didn’t return his smile and mumbled “Something like that.”

Donal noticed his sour mood, but said nothing. He probably should warn him about getting involved with someone like Nigel, but he learned long ago to stay out of Nigel’s business. It was no secret the kid was staying with him, but how platonic their relationship remained was anyone’s guess. Knowing Nigel if he hadn’t gotten his hands on the boy by now, it was only a matter of time.

“So, a whole day off, and its barely noon and you find yourself sitting here. Cant you think of anything better to do, son?”

Michael shrugged. “Not really I guess.”

Donal sighed, and started wiping down the bar. The lunch crowd was light today, but it often was mid-week.

“Ok, what’s going on? You look like a sad puppy that’s been kicked twice. Or did someone finally tell ya there’s no Santa Claus?”

Michael rolled his eyes, and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a small smile.

“Sorry, I just ran into an old school mate. Don’t know why its got me so rattled. I never liked him—total cocksucker.” Michael’s eyes went wide, realizing what he just said.

Donal let loose a raucous laugh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…just. Its put me in a mood I guess.”

Donal, squeezed his cheek and slapped him lightly on his shoulder. “Well, we definitely know you’ve been hanging out with boss man huh? Don’t be sorry, son, its about time you let your tongue go loose a bit.”

Michael knew he was turning bright pink, but he finally gave into the bright smile he kept perched just below the surface. Donal ruffled his hair affectionately. He really had grown to like the boy in the short time he’d been with them.

“Since you’re hell bent on having a boring day, do me a favor and run up to Nigel’s and bring me a couple bottles of the vermouth he keeps in the front closet. We’re almost out and the order wont be here til Friday.”

Michael smiled, downing the last sip of his whiskey. “Sure thing.”  


* * *

Nigel had a fucking bad day. It was a complete fucking shit-stain of a day. Days like this he wondered why the fuck he bothered. In the beginning, it was easy money. In the drug game he saw himself as more of a business man—a broker. Lots of people back home wanted to set themselves up as the next Pablo Escobar—the downside of too many fucking showings of Scarface in their shit neighborhood theater growing up. But they had no fucking clue where to get enough of the good shit to set themselves up. That’s where Nigel came in. He introduced one interested party to another; took his cut, provided a safe place for packaging and that was the end of it. Lately though, people were getting shadier, greedier and way fucking more dangerous—and for him to think of someone else as dangerous said a lot.

Heroin changed things. Coke was easy, just rich assholes getting fucked up on the weekends, or business assholes trying to act like rock stars. But heroin was an ugly business, and it made people greedy—made people steal from him, and when people stole, they didn’t live. He never enjoyed killing, mostly he felt indifferent. But that moment before he pulled the trigger, when he saw that look flitter across their face—somewhere between terror and resignation, when they realized this was it, their last minute in this world, he nearly always hesitated, but it was barely a blink. After he pulled the trigger, he felt nothing but relief that it was over.  

This time, keeping his eye peeled to the road, with Pavel sitting quietly next to him on the passenger side, that look lingered in the back of his mind, making his mood darker, with an unfamiliar feeling tugging at his chest. He ground his foot against the gas, pushing the car faster towards home.

 

* * *

Michael stared long at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. _It was only a little, I barely felt it_.  His eyes didn’t look that different, at least not that he could tell. His brain kept doing that thing where you convince yourself everything is ok, when you know—you absolutely know, its not. It wasn’t his fault he decided, but why was it even there? Nigel would blame him if he knew, and then he’d be back on the streets, but he didn’t need to know, and this didn’t have to become a bigger problem. He felt fine, he really did. _Fucking vermouth_. It was really Donal’s fault. All he did was go upstairs and dig in the back of Nigel’s closet. He saw the box, and when he pulled on it an envelope fell. It’d probably been forgotten long ago, but there it was, wedged in between a box of vermouth and a box of vodka. Sometimes dealers had little sample bags, he remembered them. Just little plastic bags with no more than a quarter gram each. About six of them littered the closet floor, and without a thought Michael scooped them all up, shoving them into his jeans pocket, while he grabbed two bottles of vermouth and ran back downstairs.

All six little baggies now sat in the lining of his backpack. Tomorrow he’d get rid of them. He’d only taken a small taste, to be sure of what it was. It felt…and that was just a fraction of what he remembered. The long shower distracted him, but now as he stared at his eyes in the mirror—at the way his pupils were slightly constricted, and felt that warm twist in his belly, he needed another distraction. He really hoped Nigel would be home soon.

 

**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so apparently the whole every 2 days isn't going to happen. I have a major part coming up thats taking a bit longer to edit, its very long. I kept waiting to post this part until it was done, but its been too long now, so I'm posting it now. Its short, mostly sex, so I apologize in advance :)

The only thing Nigel wanted to do as soon as he walked in the door was to wrap long soft limbs of one very gorgeous boy around his body and slip into a peaceful sleep. It looked like the kid beat him to at least half of his planned evening.  Most of the lights in the flat were off; just a few shadows alighting the sleeping figure on the sofa. Nigel stood for a moment, watching his face slack and flushed in sleep, knowing an ugly twisted world was no place for this creature.  He leaned down and pressed his lips to a soft check. Michael stirred awake immediately; he was barely sleeping, anxiously waiting for Nigel to come home, but terrified he’d notice something different about him. He sat up and looked up beneath his curtain of unkempt bangs, frowning when he noticed stress tightening Nigel’s usually relaxed features.

“Everything ok?”

He pulled Michael closer to him, fingering his hair and he placed a light kiss against his lips.

“No, but not a fucking thing for you to worry about gorgeous.”

He sat for a long moment just looking at him. He’d never been with a guy more than a long weekend. Males were for mixing it up a bit, and they were fun as fuck and he loved the rough sex you could get away with. But Michael, was just…Michael. All sad bright eyes, fierce intelligence that peaked out behind a wry smile at times, and a smart ass hiding a broken lamb. He hadn’t thought of Gabbie in days.

“I’m going upstairs, you coming?” Nigel realized he needed him to come.

Michael nodded and allowed Nigel to take his hand; not pulling away when it appeared he wasn’t letting it go.

 

* * *

He had a feeling Nigel had no intention of sleeping, but Michael just wanted to go along with it; he wanted to forget all the tumultuous thoughts in his brain and the last time he’d let go was under the skillful mouth of Nigel. He’d rather Nigel be distracted as well, so he wouldn’t look too closely at the way his hands still shook slightly.

Once upstairs, Nigel let go of his hand and brushed his fingers against his cheek. His hands felt rough against his skin, but he loved it.

_“meu iubit, esti frumoasa”_

 Michael gave him a questioning look, but Nigel didn’t translate.

“May I kiss you gorgeous?”

Michael had no idea if he wanted him to or not, so he nodded. The kiss felt bolder, hungrier; not the gentle kisses he shared with Annie, and he found himself opening his mouth wider, leaning into it, as Nigel picked him up, wrapping his legs around his waist. He carried him to the bed, and Michael felt his heart begin to hammer, but he took a deep breath and allowed himself to be laid back on the bed.

Nigel removed his shirt, and reached down to unbutton Michael’s. He stopped for a moment, trying to see if he was moving too quickly. The kid was half-hard already, creating an impressive mound in his jeans, but he’d stop if Michael asked him to.

“You know  _puiule_ , I had a really fucking shitty day, and the only thing that kept me sane was knowing you would be here when I got home. What the fuck are you doing to me gorgeous?”

Michael only shrugged, waiting, as his nerves amplified and twitched beneath his skin.  Nigel placed his hand gently on the growing mound in his jeans. Michael’s breath hitched a little, and Nigel smiled slightly.

“Ok if I remove these?”

For some reason still couldn’t find his voice, nodded again. Nigel removed his jeans and boxers together, and now Michael laid there, completely naked under his steady gaze. His blush spread down to his chest, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Nigel when he stood to remove his own pants. His impressive cock already stood at attention as he sat back on the bed between Michael’s lazily spread limbs—his cock fully erect now, leaking slightly against his taught belly. Nigel stroked his hand along the length of it, watching the blush deepen on his face, laughing softly as Michael immediately arched into his touch and moaned softly.

“Relax gorgeous, you’ve never going to last if you don’t take a breath.”

Michael glanced at him frowning. “I’m fine…but how…what are we doing?” He realized Nigel must be completely naked for a reason.

“We’ll go as far as you’ll let me. The minute you’re not OK, you say so, I’ll stop.”

Michael felt the familiar panic now. “Are you going to….” He glanced nervously at Nigel’s cock. “I mean are we going to…”

Nigel knew he’d better not so much as smile, or the kid would feel humiliated. “I’d love to, you have no fucking idea how much, but I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait til you want it.”

Of course Nigel’s hand never left him, pulling harder and faster now, making thinking near impossible.

“I’ve never…not even in boarding school…I mean…doesn’t it hurt? It…seems like it would hurt.”

Nigel couldn’t suppress the smile this time. He fucking loved this boy. “It doesn’t have to. If its too much I’ll stop. But I’m not just going to fucking shove it in, I’ll make you feel amazing first, and then we’ll see.”

“Ok…but if I hate it you’ll stop?”

Nigel leaned down and added mouth, continuing to stroke, noticing he was pretty close to his release. He didn’t hold back this time, and had to hold Michael down to keep him from slipping off the bed when he sucked hard on the tip of his cock. He’d never seen someone so beautifully sensitive to pleasure. Michael came, shouting this time, and Nigel pulled off laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He wanted to tell him he was positively pouting, but Nigel knew better.

“I’m not darling, I swear, you’re just so fucking amazing.” He leaned down and licked the very tip of his cock.

“What about you?” Nigel’s cock was still very much full and leaking.

“Don’t worry about me, I like to wait. Let’s take care of you first.”

* * *

Nigel took his time, determined to turn Michael into a squirming, writhing mess to loosen him up. He loved the way his overheated skin flushed, damp with sweat—his long curls clinging to his forehead, how every stroke; every touch left his limbs trembling. The kid was wrecked and it took every ounce of control Nigel had not to cum all over his chest before he got the first finger in. He tensed anyway of course, but he immediately distracted him, speaking softly in his ear, while he inserted the next finger, seeking that perfect tender spot inside. Michael nearly sent Nigel flying off the bed, gasping as his body arched and twisted. He let go a low, slow moan, muttering “shit”—he didn’t know if he could take much more.

By the time the third finger stretched him, Michael mostly wished Nigel would just get on with it. He was completely terrified and overly sensitive, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted desperately to see it through, but Nigel seemed intent on driving him out of his skull with madness first.

“ _Fuck Nigel!_ , please, already.”

Nigel arched an eyebrow “Such a fucking romantic you are.”

Michael reached down and grabbed Nigel’s cock, wondering how the hell he was still erect. Though what felt like hours to him was probably only minutes. He stroked  it roughly; finding it odd that someone’s else’s cock should feel so different from his own. His hand was pushed away suddenly and Nigel's mouth found his, sucking greedily on his lips, while one hand smoothly slipped under his ass, pushing his legs apart. Nigel nearly wept with how good it felt to slip inside the wonderful tight heat of his beautiful boy. He went slowly, watching Michael’s face for any sign of discomfort.

Michael definitely felt it, though it hurt less than he anticipated. Though the intimacy overwhelmed him, and he felt a little embarrassed, he tried to focus on enjoying it. Eventually Nigel changed his angle, pushing in faster, and began stroking his cock in rhythm with his thrusts, hitting that wonderful spot inside him he never knew was there. His vision nearly went white as he tried to keep up with all the new sensations. The next few moments were a blur of intense pleasure, sensory overload, mixed with a little pain, and soon Nigel thrust deep and hard into him finally finding his release. Michael joined him soon after, collapsing dazed against the mattress. Nigel fell beside him pulling him against his chest, mumbling words he couldn’t understand against his skin. He thought he heard something that sounded like te youbesk before he drifted off to sleep.

 

_*Note: te iubesc is "i love you" in Romanian_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuse for taking so long, but i am really sorry. I have the rest mapped out and hopefully will continue to have a lot more time to finish. Thanks always for the feedback--it really helps and extremely appreciated!

Michael lay stretched across the bed completely bare, skin still glistening and damp from his shower. His towel lay twisted beneath him, after not bothering to secure it when it slipped from around his waist. The flat was silent, with the sun just beginning its peak beneath the ever-present London clouds. Nigel left early; before Michael could even muster the energy to blink at him as he gently kissed his cheek mumbling something about being gone all day, and coffee already made before his retreating steps echoed on the old wood floors.

Twisting his torso, he tried to remove some of the soreness etched into his muscles from yet another night of Nigel pounding his love and frustration into his ass. Not that he minded. After the first couple of times, and he adjusted to the odd feeling of being stuffed full of slick heat, he nearly craved it. Lately the combination of Nigel stroking his cock while thrusting against his prostate was the only thing that made him come, as his heroin intake increased.

Michael held the last baggy in his hand, both terrified and relieved, because the decision would soon be made for him. Though in the back of his mind he knew it’d be easy enough to sneak the small amount he needed from that room he hadn’t gone near since his first week there. He crushed the baggy in his fist and dragged himself off the bed, leaving the towel behind as he walked to his now barely used room. Deep, gripping anxiety could wait, as his shift started soon, and getting dressed was about all his brain could handle at the moment. He stuffed the small baggy in the back of his t-shirt drawer and grabbed a polo and jeans. He dressed quickly, forgoing underwear because the effort of finding a clean pair seemed far too taxing. Shoving his feet into a pair of trainers, and running his fingers through his damp hair, he made his way downstairs quickly and headed for the bar.

 

* * *

 

Pavel was at the end of his rope. Nigel never claimed to be a perfectly reasonable man, and he certainly wasn’t a dumb one, but Pavel started to suspect he may be a crazy one. The deal they were currently negotiating was meant to be a simple one, but now Nigel was clearly talking out his ass, making huge promises Pavel was positive they couldn’t keep. Maybe the goal was to get the entire crew killed finally. For now he kept his mouth shut. Showing any descent in the ranks was dangerous, especially in dealing with these particular Russian assholes.  Nigel’s Russian was better, so he did most of the talking, but Pavel followed along just fine and all he felt was a maddening anxiety with each word.

_“If your guys can actually pull this off, I promise you, we’ll all be millionaires.”_

_“I’m a man of my fucking word.”_

The head of the other crew smiled—one of those horrible smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded and switched to English, glancing quickly over at Pavel.

“See that you do.”

**

Neither spoke a word until they were at least a mile away from the meeting place, and Pavel was the first to break.

“Are you a fucking lunatic!?”

Nigel barely moved his eyes from the road in front of them. “No.”

“No!? No! How in the FUCK are we supposed to get our hands on that much product?! This is fucking beyond even for you Nigel.” 

Nigel glanced at Pavel quickly, not giving rise to his own building anger. 

“Unless you want me to crash this fucking car, you need to calm the fuck down. Have I ever bullshitted anyone? I’m a lot of fucking things, but I’m not a fucking bullshitter. Don’t worry about a thing; its taken care of. _”_

Pavel didn’t seem appeased. “How?”

He didn't need Pavel's fucking nervous shit right now. He knew what he was doing. This way of life was no place for Michael--he needed an exit plan for his sake if not his own.

So, Nigel took his eyes off the road long enough to level an unflinching look at Pavel.

“None of your fucking business.”

 

* * *

 

The last few hours were a whirlwind of noisy wankers, spilled beer, another around of chips and a few kids trying to walk out of their bill. Michael felt almost dizzy with the relentless flow of customers. Early summer was in full swing in Camden; the streets were bulging with locals escaping the heat of their tiny flats, university students on term break and friendly but annoying tourists— and all of them it seemed needed to eat lunch and have a pint or twelve at Balaur Tavern. Even with the doors flung open to the breeze coming off the canal, it was still oppressively hot and Michael’s skin felt sticky and itchy, like an army of ants marched continuously just below the surface. Of course there could be another reason for the prickliness, but he chose to blame the heat and Donal’s abysmal excuse for an air conditioner. After voicing his complaint for the third time, Donal shook his head. 

“What the hell kid, ‘s not like you grew up with central air or something living out there in the sticks.”

Michael looked momentarily confused. “What? Of course, we had central air.” Before realizing, most families couldn’t afford the insane cost of outfitting a 18th century country home and its delicate framework with such a modern convenience.

Donal rolled his eyes “Spoiled little brat; well you’ll just have to put up with our commoner ways while you’re here.”

He frowned and went to apologize when Donal smacked him in the head with an exasperated grin. “Now clear those tables before I really hit you. There’s a queue building.”

It was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes, but smiled despite his mood, hurrying off to clear tables and herd next pain in the asses in.

**

By the time the lunch rush finally ended, Michael wanted nothing more than to run upstairs, take a long hot shower, then blast the air conditioner upstairs (that actually worked) so he could crawl under the overly plush down comforter and sleep until Nigel came home. It was no doubt a method of avoidance, but his evenings usually consisted of lots of sleeping and lots of avoiding of a certain white substance until he finally caved and snuck a bit just before Nigel usually walked through the door. But today his body genuinely felt ready to collapse, and only a quick glance to the other side of the pub stopped his rush towards the back hallways.

He couldn’t be certain when she entered the pub, considering all the earlier chaos, but she was easy to spot now. Her simply styled hair, elegant crisp white shirt and beige print Burberry skirt stood out amongst all the dark scarred wood and tarnished old iron fixtures. It was the pearl necklace however, that formed the lump in his throat. Always present from his earliest memories of sitting in her lap, casually twisting the smooth stones in his small hands until she gently tugged it away when he began to play too rough. She looked up from the menu, knowing full well she’d order nothing more than maybe a vodka tonic, or simple seltzer, finally acknowledging him with a gentle smile, that tremored slightly as she fought to keep the relief and worry out of her eyes.

He hurried towards her without realizing and she quickly stood and moved around the table, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Mum, what are you doing here? How did you even…?”

He didn’t understand how much he missed this woman, until he felt the familiar softness of her arms around him, and sniffed the same perfume that smelled faintly of lilies.

“My God Michael, you’re so thin…”

He sighed lightly, smiling. “You always say that, and I’ve always been thin. How did you find me?”

She reluctantly stopped further exploration of how skinny his arms were.

“Oh! Well you remember the Sansburys? I ran into Eliza at the open market the other day. She told me Jordon, her son—you went to school with him—ran into you last week, and said you were working here. I had to come see for myself, since I had no idea if you’d ever tell me where you were.”

He’d forgotten that pang of guilt she could conjure out of thin air. “Mum…the way I left, I mean..”

“Sit. Can you? I mean can you take a break? You’re quite good you know. I didn’t want to distract you, so I stayed out of your section. It was nice to watch you work.”

He sat opposite her, surprised her smile seemed honest. A quick glance towards Donal, who nodded, though the perplexed frown didn’t leave his face.

“I’m sorry. I know I should have let you know I was ok at least.”

“Are you? I gather you’re working here…but where are you living? Please, Michael not another dreadful council flat.”

“Um, no, I have a pretty nice place not far from her…I have a flat-mate.” _Who is a Romanian drug dealer/bar owner who I’m also fucking by the way. Also I’m at least bi-sexual._  

“Well, I hope it’s not too cramped then.”

He just smiled slightly, letting the subject drop, and letting an uneasy silence fall between them while he gathered the courage to ask.

“How’s Dad?”

She pretended to peruse the menu once more before answering. “Your father is well…and, well you know how he is.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here then, does he?”

His mother gave him a small smile, and gently shook her head. “No, I’m afraid he doesn’t. And I doubt he’d be very happy if he knew…”

She hadn’t meant to admit that, but she supposed withholding the truth wouldn’t help matters.

Michael tried to cover the disappointment he felt, but then, what did he expect?

“If I wanted to come back home…he wouldn’t allow it, would he?" 

“Michael….”

“He really meant what he said, then.” 

“He was just angry. Give him time. You have to remember you weren’t exactly behaving like an angel.”

He thought of how enraged his father looked, all the while managing to still look smug; sneering at him that he was _“sick of him being an embarrassment”_

“He set me up to fail!” That drew the attention of a few stragglers and Donal, so he lowered his voice, though honestly he was caught between wanting to shout and wanting to burst into tears. Neither would help.

“Michael, he really thought he was doing the best for you. It took a lot for him to ask a colleague to arrange a job for you. Given your history.”

He just shook his head, letting his head fall into his hands. “I….I don’t want to talk about him…I know…I know what he thinks of me. Its…its my fault.”

His mother reached across the table and took his hands. “Your father is simply a hard man to please. You were always…different than what he expected—not that he knew a thing about children. But he loves you. I know he does, and I love you very much.”

She grabbed his face and kissed him on the forehead. He wanted desperately to feel warmth and comfort from her, but he could only think, ‘ _you always choose him over me._ ’ Not that he didn’t understand. His father was her husband; her entire world. Her adult son shouldn’t be such a burden, and he honestly didn’t want to be—but just once, he wanted her to tell his father how wrong he is about him—just once he wanted her to be on his side. 

“I should really get back to work Mum. Thanks for coming to see me.” 

She knew she’d failed him in some way—perhaps a million ways, but she honestly didn’t think there was much to be done about it. Michael needed to find his own way.

“Well how can I reach you? Do you have a cell phone at least?”

Michael grabbed a napkin and quickly wrote down his number. He really needed to get out of there. His stupid emotions were all over the place and he had no desire to start crying in the middle of the pub. He stood and gave his mother a quick kiss on her cheek. 

“I promise to keep in touch…bye Mum.” He walked away from the table, moving quickly past the bar before she could utter another word. Donal cast him a worried look, but Michael didn’t stop moving until he was safely upstairs, curled up on the leather sofa in the only place he could currently call home.

**

He tried his best to distract himself; first with food, then complete rubbish television, a long hot shower than ended with him lying on the bed trying to read; trying to avoid what he knew would take all his current pains away. After a couple of hours of avoiding the inevitable, he gave up and walked to his old room; yanked open the top dresser drawer and dumped the entire contents of a small baggie onto the cover of the book he was reading. He pulled out his I.D card and clumsily cut it all into 4 big lines. He’d been hoarding straws from the bar lately, so he grabbed one stuck beneath a couple of shirts and used his pocket knife to cut it in half. He’d inhaled the first line before he even realized, and the others followed in quick succession. Afterwards, he stumbled out of his room, towards Nigel’s bed, as the rush began warm in his belly. He collapsed heavily on the bed with limbs splayed, still in his towel. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, falling into the floating sensation of pure euphoria.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments :) Thanks for sticking with this!

Nigel arrived home to a dark silent flat, with the only light coming from the still bustling city outside, creating shadows that chased across the floor. It felt ominous somehow, or maybe the ugliness of the day still clung to him. He’d made several stops and phone calls, since leaving their “meeting”— all with one goal in mind; to get this deal done quickly and get Michael as far away from this place as possible.  Nigel didn't have a clue what he would do outside of London, but he’d have more than enough money to take his time deciding.  This was the most dangerous road to take, and Pavel would not approve, but he no longer cared what Pavel thought about anything. Sometimes you had to use your past to secure your future.

He headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing the only nourishment he wanted right now; a bottle of whiskey. After downing the first drink and going to pour another, the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs stopped him. He turned to see Michael walking slowly down the stairs, clad only in a faded pair of blue boxers, looking towards Nigel like he didn't even see him. He thought he might be sleep-walking until he finally spoke; his voice soft and slightly raspy.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

Nigel turned on the under-cabinet lights so the kid wouldn’t bump into anything. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, and for a moment he wondered if he was the first one to get into the whiskey tonight. But when Michael finally reached him, and leaned his head against his chest, he only smelled of that overpriced bath soap Gabby left behind, and his normal sweet, slightly woodsy smell that was all him.  Nigel smoothed his hand down his back, frowning at how pronounced his ribs felt. He was about to tell the kid he was a fucking stick, but Michael looked up with sleepy eyes and that little smile of his, and Nigel could only smile back and reward his perfect mouth with a kiss.

“Did you eat?”

Michael shook his head “Only a little...I wasn't hungry”. He snuggled against Nigel, wrapping his arms tightly around him, mostly because he suddenly was very cold.

Nigel pulled him closer gently, running his hand along his side, “Shit, angel, you’re wasting away, and it’s not like you had much to fucking lose. What’s going on?”

Michael wanted to tell him, confess everything and ask for help—but what if Nigel only got angry? What if he thought it was too much to deal with some junkie kid and threw him out? Michael swallowed his panic and leaned up and kissed Nigel again, slipping his hand inside his pants to find Nigel’s cock already at half mass.  Nigel grabbed his wrist gently, deepening the kiss before adding.

“You need to eat something _puiule._ ”

Michael tugged on Nigel’s cock, a little shocked at his own brazenness. He didn't want to talk about food, or what was wrong with him, he just wanted to feel good; feel anything other than the fogginess in his brain and the hollowness in his chest.

“I will...but can we go upstairs first? I’ll eat afterwards, I promise.”

Nigel knew he should make him sit down while he cooked him an omelet or something, but he wasn't made of fucking stone, and his cock was always half hard just thinking about his sweet boy. He picked him up, letting Michael wrap his legs around his waist, and tried not to be too alarmed by how light he felt in his arms.

As soon as they got to the bedroom, Michael wasted no time and pulled off his boxers leaning back on the bed. He reminded Nigel of the painting of St John the Baptiste by DaVinci he saw that time he waited for a contact at the Louvre in Paris. He wasn’t immune to beautiful art, and didn't get why everyone lost their shit over Mona Lisa, she didn't hold a fucking candle to that one. Nigel pushed Michael’s legs apart and took that beautiful cock of his into his mouth. Usually Michael would be panting and writhing at his slightest touch, but Nigel’s expert sucking skills only made his cock half hard at best. Nigel pulled off, rubbing the head gently; maybe he was too tired for this.

“Hey...you look tired, darling...I can bring you off and we can pick this up again after you get some rest.” But Michael shook his head.

“No, I want you in...”

Nigel bit back a laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oh yea? In where..?”

Michael hated his tendency to blush and he frowned at Nigel for teasing him when he needed to get this over with. “In.. _me...”_ he tried to reach for the lube he knew was in the nightstand drawer, but Nigel stopped him, kissing his fingers as he retrieved the lube himself.

“Only if you’re sure angel.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, trying to level his most deadly look, and smacked Nigel on the head. Nigel couldn't help but laugh now—poor kid was trying to look threatening and just looked like a petulant puppy. Michael went to move, but Nigel inserted two lube-coated fingers and that stopped him dead in his tracks. He prepared him quickly, then hooked both his legs over his shoulders and eased in slowly, angling himself to make sure he brushed against Michael’s favorite spot. That finally got a reaction.  Nigel didn't think he’d last very long, so he stroked Michael's cock in rhythm with his thrusting and finally got it to full attention. It’d truly been a shit day, so maybe he was a bit rougher than normal, but it only made Michael moan louder and soon he was coming all over Nigel’s hand and his own belly. Nigel followed shortly after, turning on his side so he could wrap Michael in his arms and soothe away the small tremors of his orgasm. Nigel fell asleep before his tremors subsided, so he didn’t notice when they turned into the small shudder of sobs.

* * *

 

Ants marched in a steady line across his arms and up his back, making him twitch uncomfortably in his sleep. The steady maddening itch just under his skin blooming into a sharp pain, finally woke him up. He sat straight up still scratching his arm, avoiding the spot he just made bleed with his nails.  He climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb a heavily slumbering Nigel and went to take a very hot shower, hoping it would ease some of the itching. He knew from experience it wouldn’t, but he wanted to try to pretend a little while longer the cure didn’t sit just below him in a room behind the bar.  He emerged from the shower, bright red and still miserable. Slipping on his softest tee and sweatpants, he headed downstairs giving up on getting any sleep. The fridge was the intended goal—just some ice to rub against this raw skin. His body had other plans, and in short succession, he was slipping his feet into well-worn trainers and throwing his jacket on, checking to make sure the necessary key still sat in the pocket.

**

The backrooms were deserted at this hour, but he kept his steps light as he walked out of the elevator. He’d taken Nigel’s key a couple of weeks prior, knowing he rarely went there on his own and probably wouldn’t notice. The guilt gnawed at him constantly, and this was the first time he dared to use it, but tonight his need won out. He slipped in and out in under three minutes, quickly filling two of his leftover baggies and headed back upstairs. It shocked him how quickly things had gotten out of hand. The smart thing to do would be to throw both bags out, but instead he dumped most of one bag onto the kitchen counter, once he made certain all was quiet upstairs. He pulled a five pound note out of his pocket and rolled it into a makeshift straw. He inhaled nearly all of it in just a few seconds and almost fell from the sudden rush. For the first time in over a year, he seriously wished he had a needle. He slipped down to the floor, too out of it to care that his battle was lost.

 **

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the cold kitchen floor. Time moved like molasses around him as closed his eyes, leaning into the bliss that barely kept rapidly approaching darkness at bay. Soon the euphoria edged away, replaced by an unfocused haze. He didn't notice the light being flicked on, or the heavy quick steps, or even his named being called. It wasn't until he yanked up from the floor and was face to face with Nigel’s glaring eyes that he even registered things were about to go very, very wrong. Michael tried to pull away from his grip, just as Nigel released him suddenly, pushing him away with enough force that his back slammed painfully into the kitchen counter. This was it—Nigel would throw him out, but he found he was surprisingly more angry than scared. Maybe it was simply the drugs still coursing through him.

“FUCK! What the Fuck are you doing?!” Nigel paced back and forth, each time looking like he wanted to grab him and shake him again.

He saw now that Nigel had knocked the remnants of his hit on the floor. Part of him was relieved he still had the second bag in his pocket—another part was curious about seeing Nigel’s infamous anger in action, but mostly he just wanted him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone.  He started to head out of the kitchen. Nigel grabbed his arm.

“Fucking answer me!”

Michael wrenched his arm away. “Leave me alone...”

“Leave you alone?! Are you fucking kidding me? I thought you were done with this shit. Where are you getting it!? Are you fucking stealing from me now?!”

Nigel knew he needed to calm down. He knew—he's known for a while something was off, and it wasn't hard to guess why. But he didn't want to believe it. He’d hope he could get him away from this place before it came to this. Now Michael stood there trying to look defiant, but mostly looking like he’d shatter if he took another breath. 

“I’ll...I’ll pay you back. Just let me go!”

Nigel steadied himself against the kitchen island, knuckles whitening with the pressure. He took a deep breath, fighting to school his anger. “I don’t give a shit about the money Michael! Fuck!..Look, angel...I just”

Michael stopped before he reached the stairs and started laughing. “I’m not a fucking angel Nigel. I’m not your darling, or “sweet boy” or that other word you call me “ _puiule_ ”! I never was. I’m not who you want—I’m nothing like you think I am...”

Nigel didn't know whether to approach him or stay away. He’d seen people fall apart too many times to count, but seeing this beautiful creature near hysterical brought a pain to his chest he didn't know he was capable of feeling. The crazed laughter stopped, leaving nothing but angry sobs.

“Michael...” Nigel slowly walked towards him but Michael kept backing up.

“I’m just a junkie. A useless piece of shit. I’m never going to be anything, Nigel. I’m sorry. I’m—my Dad...my father is right. I’m nothing--this is all...I’m…”

Michael kept backing away until his legs hit the steps and collapsed against them. He just sat there with his head resting against his knees, refusing to look up—too ashamed. His words were muffled in between choked sobs, and for the first time in a very long time, Nigel felt his own eyes brimming with tears.

He sat down next to Michael, gathering him onto his lap, holding onto him tightly. Michael mumbled something against his shoulder.

“What is it darling?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore...I can’t do this. I’m so tired Nigel.”

A cold fear gripped him and he pulled Michael’s head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hey....I’m here ok. You’re just tired. We’ll go to bed and figure this out tomorrow. Don’t ever believe you’re nothing. I love you sweet boy and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you. Do you understand?”

Michael nodded; terrified to believe him, but desperately wanting to. He let Nigel gather him in his arms and carry him upstairs.

He fell asleep almost immediately, with half his body laying across Nigel’s chest, while he stroked his fingers through his curls and finally, let one of the tears that’d been threatening to spill, slip silently down his cheek.

**

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this!, I apologize for the long wait. Comments are fuel for a writers soul :D

The first tints of orange and pale blue morning light, fought for space in the sky alongside the ever-present dark London clouds. Their weight pressed down on Nigel more than usual, as he entered his twenty-eighth hour without sleep. He’d finally gotten Michael to sleep, though it wasn’t a restful one. Nigel, watched from the bathroom doorway as he fidgeted and tossed on the bed, kicking covers off, only to end up shivering and reaching for them again. The past twenty plus hours were filled with screaming, crying and to his surprise— actual fighting. Nigel glanced at the teeth-shaped bruise blooming on his forearm from when he wrenched Michael away from the front door for the third time in an hour. Who knew such ferocity and strength co-existed, with skinny limbs and whip-cord muscles? Nigel smiled at the memory—his sweet angel was a violent tiger underneath when he wanted something. But this time Nigel wouldn’t fail him. No matter how much he begged and cried, he wouldn’t let him go backwards just to start this nightmare over again. Though it was far from over.

Nigel made his way over to the bed and climbed in behind Michael, pulling him into his arms, trying to sooth him in some small way. He pulled back sweaty locks of hair and whispered into his ear. “I’ll make all this better _puile_ , I promise.” He kissed the side of his face gently before succumbing to exhaustion.

* * *

For a brief, few seconds when he woke, Michael felt fine.  Then came the awful aches throughout his entire body and the overwhelming nausea he didn’t understand since there’s no way there was anything left in his stomach. He rose slowly, terrified of having yet another accident (Nigel had to change the sheets twice yesterday). He hoped his trembling legs would carry him to the shower he desperately wanted. His body alternated between freezing cold and burning heat all night and the sweat seemed to be glued to his skin. The room was empty but he heard dishes clattering downstairs, and assumed Nigel was making another pot of that horrible tea he kept forcing him to drink. Under the spray, he tried to feel bad about his earlier behavior, but he was trapped in a depressing fog. All his brain could manage at the moment was to remember how to move his limbs to get clean again.

When he walked out of the bathroom, Nigel was there, putting new sheets on the bed. He saw the tea sitting on the nightstand and grimaced. Nigel glanced over at him, shivering by the wall, clad in only a towel, his hair dripping slowly onto his shoulders. He grabbed a sweater off the chair and tossed it to him.

“There’s clean boxers and pajama pants over there.”

Michael nodded and slipped it over his head, dropping his towel on the floor.  It was a testament to just how tired Nigel felt, that Michael standing in front of him wearing nothing but his sweater; cock peaking beneath, didn’t even cause a stir. Completely oblivious, Michael pulled on his flannel bottoms and finally looked at Nigel. His heart sank by how ragged he looked, with lines of fatigue and dark circles marring his handsome face. All his fault…

“Nigel, I.…”

He put his hand up. “Save it Angel. This is fucking love. Do you get it? Don’t you dare fucking apologize. I would do this twenty fucking times over if it meant you’d be ok.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be ok.”

Nigel sighed—such a morose little shit. “Come here.”

He shook his head and moved towards the window, his mood plummeting. “No…I hurt all over.”

“Ok, I won’t touch you, but drink some tea.”

He glanced at the now tepid tea and looked back out the window.

“You need to drink something, you’re dehydrated.”

Michael shrugged, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well it fucking matters me to me!, so drink!”

He folded his arms defiantly across his chest—he really wanted Nigel to stop talking. “You drink it.”

The kid was in pain, exhausted and miserable and Nigel promised himself he wouldn’t lose his patience, but _fuck_ , he was tired too. Yanking Michael away from the window probably wasn’t the best idea, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“Get the fuck off me!”

 _Shit._ Nigel immediately let go “I’m sorry…” 

Michael pulled away from him and curled up on the bed, grabbing his stomach.

Somedays he hated his temper. “Hey…Let me help you up…you gonna be sick?”

He shook his head, there was nothing in there to come up, but it felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself. He desperately wanted relief, but if yesterday proved anything, that would never happen with Nigel around. The sane part of him was grateful, but mostly he felt like punching him again.

“Can I please just have some aspirin?”

Nigel sat on the bed next to him, stroking his hair very gently. “Angel….”

Michael turned away burying his face into the mattress. Withdrawal made him devolve into a petulant child. He was crying again, and he was sick of it—sick of himself—sick of Nigel seeing him at his worst. He wanted to rip his flesh apart until he was nothing but a corpse. He just wanted it over. But now the main thing he wanted was to lessen the relentless aches of every muscle he possessed.  He rolled over onto his back and looked up at Nigel, not bothering to wipe the tears falling back into the bed.

“Please… Nigel.”

No one could say the kid wasn’t smart. He knew Nigel’s breaking point—and tear-stained, flushed cheeks, and big wet eyes was it.

He sighed, “Drink the fucking tea and I’ll get you some fucking aspirin.”

** 

Nigel slowly sipped his favorite whiskey in his favorite chair—his one contribution to the décor of the bedroom, while Michael slept unmoving in the middle of the bed. He’d taken the tea, along with five aspirins, that would probably wreak havoc on his empty stomach later, but Nigel left it alone. He had enough of pissed off Michael to last a fucking lifetime. He’d fallen asleep almost immediately and been curled in that position since. Nigel knew that position well—but he hadn’t used it since he was a kid. His brother called it “playing possum’ or that’s the nearest translation he could think of. When his father was on a fucked up drunken rampage when they were kids, Nigel would lie perfectly still under the covers and pretend to be asleep, hoping his father would pick another target. Most of the time it worked—but not always. He wondered why his sweet boy cowered like that now; where he learned it. Or maybe it was just the instinct of all humans, to protect themselves. The other night he mentioned his father thought he was nothing. Nigel would like nothing more than to kick the fucking face in of the asshole who ever made his _puiule_ feel like he was anything less than perfect, just as he is.

 

* * *

 

“Nigel?”

Someone was trying to pull him out of the deepest sleep he’d had in days and he might have to punch them if they didn’t stop yanking his fucking shoulder.

“…Nigel..?”

This fucking prick definitely needed to be taught a lesson. Nigel turned with a snarl, but was met with pleading blue eyes and very messy hair, that shook with every shiver, as Michael tried to bury himself under Nigel’s skin.

“I can’t…I can’t get warm...”

He pulled his shirt off and pulled Michael on top him, pressing his bare chest again his own.

“Its just chills angel.”

Michael buried his face in all that warm chest hair, while Nigel wrapped his arms tightly around him, rubbing his hand along his back gently.

“I fucking hate this.”

Nigel chuckled lightly. “I can never get used to you saying ‘fucking’.”

“You say it all the time, and I said it plenty before I met you.”

Nigel tugged gently on his hair. “You know what darling? I don’t believe you.”

Michael said nothing, and just frowned because he was right of course. Even saying it now made him feel like an imposter. But who the hell was he anyway? 

“I just want this over.”

“You’re almost there. It’s just like a bad flu, that’s all. The worst is over.”

Michael looked at him with tired eyes. “Is it?”

“It fucking better be, I’m out of sheets.”

Michael bit him, but laughed a little, mumbling “I only threw up on the bed twice…”

“Twice too many…”

He felt Michael’s smile against his chest, and kissed the top of his head. “Try and sleep some more, ok?”

Michael barely finished his nod before his eyes closed. Nigel pulled the blankets over them both and followed him into their first peaceful slumber in days.

**

The next time he woke, his little bird wasn’t beside him. Michael sat in the chair by the window, bundled up in one of those fluffy blankets Gabbi kept buying. The sky was dark beyond the window, reflecting the face of a very stoic, but troubled young man. The lights from the city outside provided the only illumination in the room. Nigel had to admit; bathed in nothing but shadows, Michael looked simply fucking beautiful.

“What’s wrong păsărică?” 

Michael smiled slightly. “Does that mean, ‘little bird’? You haven’t called me that in a while.” 

Nigel raised his brow, poised to ask a question, when Michael interrupted. “I Googled it.”  

Nigel pushed his bangs out of his face and smirked a little, still watching him silently. “Well…I figured out you weren’t so fucking fragile.” 

Michael looked at him, frowning slightly. “And now…” 

“Even the strongest get a little broken sometimes. You’ll be yourself again.” 

Michael could think of a million things to say to that—none of them positive, so he said nothing.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Michael finally spoke again. “How did you know? I mean, how to take care of me...were you ever...?” 

Nigel shook his head and reached for his smokes sitting on the bedside table, and lit a cigarette. “No, but I knew plenty of people who were. My friend…my best fucking friend was hooked for a while. Thought he could handle it at first, but man I was fucking wrong on that.” 

He saw a darkness pass over Nigel’s features before he shrugged it off, but still, Michael left the chair and went to join him in bed.  

“Is your friend Ok now?” though he was afraid of the answer, as Nigel never mentioned anyone other than Pavel and he didn’t think he meant him. 

He shook his head, and at the look of slight panic on Michael’s face, he quickly clarified. “It wasn’t the drugs. He got clean, and pretty much stayed that way. I stayed on his ass most of the time. We got into a really fucking bad situation…should have never fucking happened. Anyway, I walked away with this fucked up scar…” He pointed to the long, jagged scar along his side, that always fascinated Michael, though he never asked where it came from. “…and Darko didn’t walk away at all. He’s dead.” 

Michael looked up at him, seeing real, raw pain etched on his face and moved closer, letting Nigel pull him into his arms. “I’m sorry.” 

Nigel kissed the top of his head. “It was a long time ago darling. It taught me a lot. I was fucking arrogant and sure of myself—we both were, and it fucked everything up, and got one of us killed. I’ve never made a mistake like that again.” He tried not to think of the very risky deal he was working on now. The risks were calculated, but he knew, things could easily turn deadly if everyone didn’t end up happy. Right now, he didn’t see another option. 

“You don’t really talk about your past much…” 

Nigel started playing with one of his curls. “Do you ever trim this shit puiule? And I could say the same about you. You never mention your parents. I know your Mum came in the bar the other day…Donal told me…” Michael tensed up a little. 

“Hey…you don’t have to tell me a fucking thing you don’t want to, ok?” 

He leaned further back against Nigel’s chest. “No…its ok, I want to. I probably keep way too much to myself. Always have.” 

Nigel put out his cigarette and started gently stroking his hair. Michael was trembling a little and he didn’t think it was from his earlier chills. 

“I don’t know why my mother visiting upset me so much. I’m not sure what I expected…I just…I saw her sitting there in the pub, and I was so happy to see her. Like it was a sign she finally gave a shit about me. I mean she does, but not at the expense of her own comfort. I realize that now. My father never really understood what he was supposed to be as a father—or maybe I’ve gotten it wrong. Maybe all a father does is make rules and get very angry if you don’t live up to what he expects.” 

He leaned his head on Nigels arm, as he continued gently running his fingers through his soft, tangled mass of curls. “I…he didn’t know what to do with me, even when I was little. He said I was too soft and if he wanted a daughter, they’d have tried for another child. God, he was always so fucking mean. I don’t know why I cared so much.” 

“We all give a shit about our father’s darling, even if they don’t fucking deserve to be pissed on if they’re on fire.” 

“Was your Dad mean?” 

Nigel laughed a little bitterly. “My father was this asshole who came home drunk when he remembered to come home, ranting about what shit his life was, and what little shits we all were. I mostly stayed out of his way. But if the fucker looked my way with a smile, which I can fucking count how many times he did—I thought the whole fucking world was lit up. Kids are needy little idiots, angel. It’s how we all come into this world. If we’re lucky, we make into adults so we can tell the giant assholes we had to put up with to go fuck themselves.” 

Michael looked up at him and smiled sadly. “You’re the only person who gives a shit about me Nigel. And if I were looking for you, I’d never have found you. You’re the best surprise I’ve ever gotten. I love you.” 

Nigel’s eyes immediately welled up with tears, but he kept them in check, swallowing hard. Michael noticed, and smiled a little wider but said nothing. 

“I love you too, my sweet little bird.” 

* * *

 

Long after Michael fell asleep, Nigel finally moved him onto his own pillow and carefully climbed out of bed and headed downstairs.  It was barely 6am, but it was almost 8 in Bucharest. The people he knew were either just getting home or just getting up that time of the morning. The phone rang twice before the person he needed picked up. He felt the bitterness and anger still burning in his chest, but this was for Michael. He could endure anything if it meant he’d finally be safe and happy.

 “Yea, you know who it fucking is, just listen. You at least fucking owe me that.” 

He heard her sigh heavily on the other end. “What do you want Nigel?” 

“Gabbi darling. I need you to do me a fucking favor.”

 

**

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-uploading chapter (its twice as long) instead of as a another separate chapter

“So why am I here?”

Nigel sat a whiskey in front of Gabbi, wondering if this was such a good idea with his little bird asleep upstairs. He probably should have met her in the bar, but he didn’t want to leave Michael alone just yet.

“I fucking told you on the phone.” He sat across from her at the seldom used dining table she picked out. He thought maybe he’d feel the tug of something familiar with her back in the space they shared, but barely felt anything at all, except the need to get this over with quickly.

“I know, but what you told me over the phone is crazy.”

Nigel pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He’d only been smoking near open windows since he noticed how Michael coughed whenever he smoked around him, the kid was making him soft.

“I didn’t ask you here for your fucking assessment. I just need to fucking know it’s possible.”

Gabbi reached for the smokes. “Of course, it’s possible. Its suicide, but it’s possible. This is not like you Nigel. Why you being so reckless. Didn’t you learn your lesson with Darko?”

Of course she’d bring that up. “This is not like that, and fuck you for bringing him up.”

Gabbi put her glass down. “I’m here as a favor Nigel, I can leave.”

“Yea, you’re fucking great at leaving. So, I figure since you walked out and left me with my fucking cock in my hand, this is the least you can do.”

She laughed that humorless laugh she always did when she was about to say something mean.

“Oh give me a fucking break Nigel. Like you were madly in love. I did you a favor.”

Nigel took a long drag on his cigarette to prevent him from pounding his fist on the table. He could feel the old anger and hurt bubbling up. But he had his angel now, so fuck Gabbi.

“I’m not looking to bring up the past. I’ve moved the fuck on and so have you. All I need is to know if your ‘man’ can get his hands on what I need.”

Gabbi studied Nigel for a moment. “Of course he can.”

“At the price I said?”

Gabbi smiled a little. “Well…”

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood.”

“Yes, Nigel. He thinks it’s a good deal. But it’s a lot, especially this quickly, so he needs something up front.”

“Yea, yea, of fucking course.” Nigel finished his whiskey in one gulp. To get the money he’d have to liquidate most of their current stock fast. It was the cheaper shit they sold to junkies, not the stuff he knew Gabbi’s guy had. It’d put all his guys on edge to do it so fast, and maybe put the cops on alert, but it had to be done.

“Fine. Give me a week.”

Gabbi gave him a single nod and finished her drink. “Why are you doing this Nigel. This isn’t like you. Not anymore.”

Nigel just looked at her with an unflinching gaze. “Why? Because none of your fucking business.”

Gabbi knew that was her cue to leave. She stood up, saying “I’ll be in touch.” 

She started towards the door, but stopped when she heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. She looked up and saw a young guy, kid almost as far as could tell, walking down the stairs, clad in only a pair of loose fitting boxers. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw her. His blue eyes went wide and he looked quickly around her for any sign of Nigel. 

Nigel came up behind her, the last thing he wanted to happen, just happened, and he for once was at a lost.

“Michael…I didn’t mean to wake you. Um..this..”

Michael cut him off, turning around to go back up the stairs. “Sorry, I didn’t’ realize. I mean…I.” He didn’t finish and hurried up the stairs.

“Fuck…” Nigel wanted to immediately go after him, but he wanted Gabbi gone first.

Gabbi looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be incredulous or unmoved. “Jesus, Nigel. How _old_ is he?”

“He’ll be twenty-one soon, why?”

She raised her eyebrow like she didn’t believe a word. Nigel was getting tired of her very presence.

“He just fucking looks younger ok? What the fuck do you care?”

She smiled, loving that Nigel for once seemed a little unhinged. “I don’t. You usually don’t let your playthings stay over this long. Did you forget he was here?”

“He lives here. How the fuck could I forget?”

That did shock her. “Seriously? I mean you’re shacking up with…”

“You’re leaving, right?”

She just shook her head “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Nigel practically pushed her towards the door. “You’ll be in touch next week, yea?” 

She pulled away from his reach and opened the door herself. “Yes, next week. Enjoy your day.”

Nigel slammed the door behind her. “Fucking bitch.”

He took a deep breath to steel himself against whatever mood waited for him upstairs. He had no fucking clue if Michael was the jealous type or not. Their little world had been so insular until now. Entering the room, there was no sign of Michael, but he heard the shower running.

Instead of waiting, he walked into the bathroom and knocked on the glass door, though he was positive he saw him standing there.

Michael opened the door, prepared to be reasonable and embarrassed for running off, but all that came out was a very terse. “Who was that?”

Nigel wondered how he was expected to have a normal fucking conversation with a naked, wet, perfect creature in front of him? Michael noticed where his gaze kept falling and stepped out of the shower and moved past him, grabbing a towel. He mumbled “That’s all you think about.”, and walked back into the bedroom with the towel secured around his waist.

“Angel, you’re dripping all over the place…”

Michael caught the towel Nigel tossed him and ran it quickly through his hair, never ceasing this steady glare. He wasn’t jealous, not really; he just worried. What if Nigel figured out life would be easier with her? His own tenure in his life had been anything but easy, especially now. Could he blame him if he wanted to return to the tumultuous, but predictable life he had before?

Nigel tried to ignore the obvious annoyance on Michael’s face and reached over to pull on a long  a wet strand of hair; it nearly reached his shoulder blades.

“Your hair is getting so fucking long.” He lacked for anything better to say.

 “Then I’ll fucking cut it! Who was she?”  knowing full well who she was.

The outburst caught him by surprise; so his _puiule_ did have a jealous side. Nigel didn’t know why he didn’t just come out with it. Gabbi was no threat; If anything, seeing her proved how much he cared about Michael and no longer have two fucks about her. She was simply a means to an end—a way to give Michael a better life and keep him safe. Nigel bit back a smile and turned to face two blazing blue irises.

“That was Gabbi, I asked her to come.”

“Isn’t she?...why?”

He saw a flash of worry flit across Michael’s face before he drew it back into a frown.

“I need her to do something for me. Its better you don’t know the details. But it’s for us—for you, and the stupid cunt owes me one.”

Michael sat down on the bed, falling silent for full minute, wondering if he really wanted the whole truth. “Is it illegal, what she’s doing?”

No point in lying to the kid. “Yes.”

“Is it dangerous? You won’t…will you get hurt?”

His anger was forgotten as a very real fear of losing Nigel took over.

“No, angel. I’ve done this a thousand fucking times. I just need her to talk to someone for me. That’s all. I promise, it’s not dangerous.”

That was the first lie he ever told him, but Michael looked genuinely scared and worried, and he’d been through enough over the past few days.

“You’re shivering. You want my sweater?”

Michael nodded. He’d been wearing this dark blue sweater of Nigel’s lately. It hung off him, but he loved him in it. 

“Wait, I’m mad at you.”

Nigel laughed, and tossed him the sweater. He pulled it over his head and removed his towel, leaving him wearing nothing but the oversized sweater. Nigel smiled a little and resisted ruffling his hair, since it would only make him annoyed.

“Was it…what was it like seeing her? I know you were together for a long time…”

“Honestly, I mostly felt like punching her in the fucking face. But I don’t hit women.” When Michael only frowned, he kneeled in front of him, looking up.

“Look at me…seeing her made me happy she left, and made me fucking happy I had space in my life for you when you showed up. Not to get completely fucking sappy, but I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

Michael stared at him, not bothering to hide the tears that immediately clouded his eyes. He yearned for the day when a someone just saying they cared about him didn’t move him to tears.  He pushed Nigel’s fringe off his forehead and wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him. He tried to put all the love and passion he felt for this odd man with the funny accent. The man who could be as fiery as a lion with the rest of the world, but gentle as a pup with him.

Nigel hovered over him, one hand under the sweater. “If you just want to make out, you’d better tell me, I have no control right now darling.”

Michael pulled him closer, “I think so, if you can go slow?” Nigel eased his hand between his legs and noticed his cock was already mostly hard—a rare occurrence lately.

Nigel pulled his sweater completely off him. “I guess someone is happy to see me.”

Michael grinned, the familiar blush spreading across his cheeks, and pulled Nigel in for another kiss. He’d never been much for kissing before, but Nigel wasn’t questioning it now.

Nigel took his time, despite the need to completely devour him. He moved within him slowly, savoring every tremor and gasp he coaxed out of him. This boy captured his heart; owned him completely—something he never thought possible. As Michael reached his end, he just watched how raw and vulnerable he was in that moment—not shrinking away, or hiding. He let Nigel see all of him.

* * *

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! What the FUCK do you think you’re doing Nigel?” Pavel was losing his shit.

“How about you calm the fuck down….”

“Calm down?! How the fuck do I calm down?!” While Nigel was understanding of Pavel’s concern, he didn’t appreciate the way he was talking—shouting at him.

“One. You need to remember who’s in charge and back the fuck down.  If you shut your mouth for a fucking minute I’ll explain.”

Pavel knew he’d overstepped, but what Nigel planned was dangerous and could land them all in prison, so calm wasn’t easy to achieve.

“Just tell me why?”

Nigel gestured for him to take a seat. His pacing around the office was irritating him. Pavel sat, though not at all still.

“I figured you would have guessed. I’m getting out.” 

Pavel ran a hand through his short hair and reached for his pack of cigarettes. “No shit. Why now and why so fucking fast.”

Nigel ran through a handful of things he could say, but just decided on the truth. Pavel deserved it. 

“I need to get out of here. Go somewhere with a little more peace…for Michael, and fuck, for me too.”

That admission needed a cigarette even he told himself he didn’t care what Pavel thought about any of it.

He went back to pacing. “Fuck…are you serious? That kid?” Pavel took a breath and started over because he knew the look Nigel was leveling at him all too well

“I mean don’t’ get me wrong, that kid is sweet, and has a gorgeous ass, but you know you’re just supposed to flip that over on his belly, fuck the shit out of him and move on. You’re not supposed to get married for fucks sake!”

Nigel’s hand was around his throat faster than either of them blinked. “Be very fucking careful.”

For the first time since they’d known each other, Pavel worried he’d actually kill him. Fear showed in his eyes, as he moved to pry Nigel’s fingers from around his neck, But Nigel let go with a shove.

Pavel rubbed his neck, “Shit! I’m sorry…I’ve known you a long time. I didn’t’ know.”

“Forget it. All you need to know is, I’m doing this, I need you to do as I ask with no fucking hesitation and you’ll be well taken care of. Are we fucking clear?”

Pavel nodded, but neither spoke for a few minutes. They’d been together a long time, and Nigel would always be grateful to him for stepping up after Darko’s death. They almost never fought, but he relied on Pavel to tell him when he was being a dumb shit. Maybe this was one of those times. But it felt right. No matter how fucked up everything else was, doing this one thing felt right.

Nigel mumbled a quick apology, because he wasn’t a complete asshole and began to explain his plan.

 

* * *

 

“What’s wrong? You’ve been distracted all afternoon. If you want to go back…”

Nigel looked up into worried blue eyes and smiled, trying to force his mind to the present. The present was pretty fucking great if he stopped worrying about Pavel and all the other shit he couldn’t do anything about.

They were sitting in a café on the other side of town. Though neither of them said outright, it was understood Michael wasn’t returning to waiting tables at the bar. He wanted to protest, but in truth he never liked working there, but still he thought he should do something. Nigel only wanted him to focus on himself and occasionally him. But he knew Michael couldn’t be idle for long, and that, in itself, could derail everything. So, he suggested they go out together, something they’d never done. It’d been a week since most of his symptoms subsided, though he still looked pale and barely ate anything. Nigel gave up on trying to get him to eat more—his angel was just going to be a stick for a while, though his cheeks were finally getting that rosiness back he couldn’t get enough of.

He plucked a fallen strand of hair away from his eyes, and pulled out his cigs. Michael immediately reached for one. He’d been smoking lately, which Nigel supposed was better than a needle, so he indulged him.

“Sorry, Angel, just some business shit I keep thinking about. Why don’t you order a burger or something?”

Michael raised his brow, knowing full well Nigel just wanted him to eat more as usual.

“Look you’re a fucking string-bean, and your stomach is fine. Stop worrying. If you get sick, I’ll hold your hair.”

He rolled his eyes, but picked up the menu while Nigel motioned for the waitress. After they ordered food, and a whiskey for Nigel (Michael was giving up alcohol for a while and settled on a coke), Nigel thought they should talk about their future, which was fast approaching.

“I’m thinking of leaving London for a while.”

Michael looked at him with alarm before he quickly clarified. “Both of us. I want us both to leave London for a while.”

“And go where?”

“Wherever you want. If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

Michael shrugged, having never thought much about traveling in his life. His family vacationed every summer in Spain, and he always liked the warm air and the ocean. He could play in the sand for hours alone, and wouldn’t go inside until he was forced to.

“Somewhere warm would be nice…by the ocean maybe?”

Nigel imagined his lovely lithe body, tan and laid out on the sand, all for him. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.

Michael laughed and kicked him under the table, knowing full well what he imagined.

“Like Spain, Italy…maybe some little place in Capri, or South of France.” 

His eyes lit up with the possibilities. “I spent a lot of time in Spain as a kid…maybe South of France? at least I speak French…not as well I used to.”

Sometimes it was easy for Nigel to forget Michael was this young kid from a posh family, who if things had gone differently would be attending some pretentious thousand-year-old university instead of sitting in some shitty café with his Romanian-drug-dealer-lover, in the middle of Camden on a Thursday afternoon.

“You speak French huh? Gonna have to fucking use that tonight.”

Their food arriving prevented Michael from giving the retort he wanted. “I learned in school. We had to speak it fluently or get cracked on the knuckles. I remember when I’d come home for break, my father would only speak French to me in the evenings, and I’d better reply correctly.”

“Come home? Where were you?” Michael rarely talked about his family and he watched him for signs he was getting upset. He wanted him to enjoy their afternoon.

“Hey, you don’t have to…”

Michael waved him off.  “It’s fine. I started boarding school when I was about eleven, my Mum kept me home longer than my Dad wanted, but he finally put his foot down. It wasn’t bad, I mean I didn’t hate it, at least after lessons were done for the day it was more relaxed than home was. Anyway, so, yea I speak French. Latin too, but that’s a waste. I don’t know much Italian though. I suppose I could learn. What about you?”

Nigel chuckled lightly. “I don’t know much French to be fucking useful, I know a bit of Italian and German, and well, obviously English I do ok.”

Michael smiled a little and nodded, now wishing he’d hadn’t mentioned his father. He took a big bite of his burger, that wasn’t bad, and tried to push his parents out of his mind.

“You do. Much better than my French. Je vais te faire l'amour plus tard.”

“Shit, Angel, I don’t know what the fuck you said, but It’s making me hard already.”

Michael laughed outright at that, and Nigel thought he’d never heard a better sound.

 

 ***

 They took a taxi to Covenant Gardens, an area Nigel rarely frequented, but he was determined to pamper his _puile_ today.  Away from their little world in Camden, Michael felt out of his depth, but determined to just enjoy himself. The goal of the afternoon seemed to be for Nigel to buy him as many things as possible. He acquiesced and allowed the new wardrobe and a couple pairs of trainers, but drew the line at an over-priced Patek Philippe watch, saying he just used his phone to tell time anyway. Nigel let it go, thinking maybe people his age didn’t go for watches anymore; everything was a fucking gadget. They ended up at Selfridges, but seeing the way people stared at Nigel’s neck tattoo and gave him wide birth, while glancing curiously at Michael with a bit of a snicker, made him want to get the hell out of there.  Glancing down and recognizing an old classmate’s sister made his desire to flee more urgent. He pulled on Nigel’s arm, saying he really wanted to go.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired.” But Nigel noticed his sudden anxiousness and followed his gaze to where he nervously kept glancing.

“Who’s that, then?”

Michael was getting very annoyed, and grabbed Nigel’s arm, pulling him towards the elevators. He’d had enough of this day and just wanted to go back to their flat and curl up on the couch.

“Doesn’t matter, can we please just leave?”

Nigel didn’t argue and got them out of there as fast as possible. He hailed a taxi as soon as they hit the street since Michael seemed so agitated. He waited until they well on their way towards Camden for asking him to explain himself.

“Ok what the fuck was that back there? Why’d some mousy girl have you running?”

Now he mostly felt embarrassed. “She was just the sister of an old, school mate. I ran into someone I used to know a few weeks ago, and it didn’t go well. I’m sorry, I just panicked.”

Nigel slipped an arm around him and pulled him closer. “Did some asshole make you feel like shit?” 

Michael smiled at Nigel’s constant overprotectiveness. “It wasn’t his fault. Its me…I cant seem to reconcile my past life with this one. Part of me wants to forget it ever happened, but I don’t…”

He trailed off, looking out the cab window. Nigel nuzzled his hair, shooting the driver a glare that he hoped let him know exactly what would happen to him if he looked back at them with disdain again.

“You don’t what, Angel?”

He leaned against Nigel. “I don’t know what comes next.”

 

**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise action in the next chapter, there are probably no more than 2 left. But EXPLICIT rating is definitely earned in this one just to warn. I love comments as always XD

It was an unusually cool and breezy day for the middle of summer in Camden. The streets overflowed with tourists and random groups of hipsters digging through the colorful bins at the local street market. Michael sat on a bench on the other side of the bridge watching quietly, with a book he picked up earlier at a used bookshop stall.

He didn’t really know what to do with his days now that he wasn’t waiting tables in the pub. Not that he missed it, but the alternative of having little to do didn’t prove much better. Nigel never said why he didn’t want him working there any longer, but he guessed it had something to do with his many screw-ups and the many exasperated looks Donal threw his way before he’d gotten “sick”. Also, Nigel often took up a back table in the pub during the day, which never occurred before. He imagined it had something to do with the plan for them to leave London soon.

The wind gently turned the pages of the book he wasn’t really reading. Not his normal fare, but being with Nigel and his life post-Woolpit made him want to see a different side of things. Maybe Irvine Welsh held the answers. Though he highly doubted it. He shut the book and sat it beside him, leaning his face towards the sun. 

Today the sky held no ominous clouds, only bright, hopeful blue skies, much like the skies he hoped to see every day once they arrived in Italy. Michael had pulled up pictures of the Amalfi Coast on Nigel’s iPad just two days prior and within an hour, Nigel was on the phone. Just three hours later, he showed Michael photos of a beautiful small villa right on the water, with its own private, secluded beach. He placed the iPad in his hands and kissed along Michael’s neck, whispering _“all for my little bird”_ It wasn’t until after he lay next to Nigel, still sticky with the mingled remnants of their cum, that he realized Nigel had purchased the beautiful little home for them. Their dream of leaving the city for paradise was fast becoming a reality. To celebrate, Michael decided to tread into uncharted territory and perform his very first blow-job. It was definitely more difficult than Nigel made it look and he had to abandon his efforts half -way through, mumbling an apology as Nigel laid him against his chest, telling him lessons would begin the next day as he drifted off to sleep.

He smiled now at ‘the lessons’, and his cheeks brightened as he remembered he eventually got the hang of it. 

Love was probably the best description for what he felt, but it still didn’t answer the question he’d asked in the back of a taxi only a week ago—“what happens next?” The obvious answer was, life on a beach in Italy, but then what? His twenty-first birthday quickly approached and he’d accomplished so little. Most of his friends were third years at Oxbridge, and he only had his Secondary School A-levels and a stint in prison to mark his first twenty-one years. He tried to remember if he had any real ambitions before succumbing to drugs and a life of merely surviving day to day. He always assumed he’d go to Oxford and read English literature and maybe write a bit. Now he didn’t know if he was even capable of any of that. He did understand that a life with Nigel, would never lead to a degree from Oxford or a career in writing; but maybe that life belonged to someone else. With his skin growing warmer from the sun, he decided to retreat indoors and bug Donal a bit if things weren’t too busy.

Because of the early hour, the pub still sat mostly empty, with most patrons staying towards the back. Donal looked up as he approached the bar.

“Well, if it isn’t the Prince himself!”

Michael rolled his eyes and smiled, appreciating his usual teasing after things being so morose for a while. “I’m hardly a Prince.”

Donal laughed and started wiping down the bar. “Don’t let Sir Nigel hear you. What’ll ya have?”

Michael tried to answer as casually as possible. “A beer.”

Donal raised a brow and nodded. “Diet Coke? Coming right up.”  Of course, there’s no way Nigel was letting anyone serve him alcohol, though he arrived at the decision himself to give it up for a while. Apparently, he didn’t have a say on whether he continued. He took the Diet Coke gratefully and let it go. 

“Thanks, so…have you replaced me yet?”

Donal nodded. “Summer rush is hitting us, so we needed the extra people anyway.”

Michael sat quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to apologize. Sometimes simplicity was best.

“I’m sorry Donal. Really.”

Donal put down his towel and looked at Michael who was failing miserably at trying to avoid his eyes.

“Look. You have no reason to be sorry. You’ve been through the mill, and I’d rather you take care of yourself. You do a piss-poor job of that most of the time. We’re fine, and you’re welcome back whenever you like.”

Donal finished by shoving a lock of hair out of his face, making him smile warmly. Michael stood up and grabbed the towel.

“I can wipe the tables down if you like?”

Donal figured it couldn’t hurt to give him a little something to do and nodded, pointing towards a general direction for him to start.

Michael hopped up and went to work. It felt good to do something other than sitting on the couch or random bench reading, or trying to learn Italian online.

He’d finished one side of the pub and was about to head over to the other, when he saw Nigel walk in with Pavel trailing behind him. He waved at him quickly and went back to wiping tables. Nigel immediately walked over to Donal, glaring.

“The fuck Donal!? I told you he’s not working!”

Michael hurried back over towards the bar as soon as he heard Nigel barking.

“Jesus Nigel calm down, the boy is only…”

“Calm down! I don’t fucking want him in here!”

Michael grabbed Nigel’s arm. “Stop ok! I was just helping until the first shift starts. I’m not working.”

Nigel looked incensed, but tried to reign it in for him. “Look, I just don’t want you in here ok? I don’t want you to…”

He was pissed now. “Want me to what? Do you think looking at a bottle of whiskey is going to start me on a new vice? I was just wiping some tables for fuckssake! I can’t just sit upstairs all day like I’m your goddamn trophy wife!”

The bar seemed oddly quiet after his outburst, and he felt like disappearing between the floorboards. He’d never really acknowledged the true nature of their relationship. Not that he’d come right out and said it, but referring to himself as a trophy wife probably meant they were fucking. He turned beet red, avoiding the very amused look on Donal’s face and the smirk on Nigel’s; Pavel was too busy rolling his eyes and studying his phone.

“Um…I’ll be upstairs…”

Nigel smiled and nodded. “I’ll be right up, wifey.” Michael hurried around the corner leaving the raucous sound of Nigel and Donal laughing behind.

 

* * *

 

Nigel would love to tease his lovely angel more, but he and Pavel had work to do, and it needed to be done quickly. He told Donal to close the bar after the dinner rush, so there would be no extra eyes about when they moved the final load of their product. It’d gone without a snag. Most of their contacts knew their clientele wasn’t picky about the pureness of the product, though Nigel still considered his stuff pretty fucking good, but it couldn’t hold a candle to what Gabbi’s man dealt in. His stock was reserved for actors, politicians and pop stars, who could care less about inflated prices. So after this stuff was moved, he’d be ready to set the next two meetings—one with Gabbi’s man and then the final one with the Russians. Then he and Michael could leave the dreary world of Camden behind for the sun-filled shores of the Amalfi Coast.

Even still, he didn’t take for granted the dangerous men involved; things could very easily turn bad. There’s a reason he stayed away from the Russians, and men like Gabbi’s new toy. The money was better, but the stakes were higher. They were trigger happy to say the least. Nigel could certainly hold his own, but he preferred a little peace at the end of the day.

When he finally made it back to the flat, Michael was in his usual position—sprawled on the leather sofa in the living room, with an open book hanging precariously off his chest. Nigel smiled, shrugging his jack off, and leaned down to push the mess of curls out of Michaels face and kiss him lightly on the lips. He stirred immediately, smiling sleepily, then, obviously remembering what happened earlier, frowned up at him, his mouth plumping to an impressive pout.

“I’m mad at you.”

Nigel raised his eyebrow and smirked a little. “Yea, ok. You be mad. Did you eat?”

Michael sat up, setting the book on the table and shook his head. Nigel fixed him a glare, but Michael waived it off.

“I fell asleep. I can order some Indian or something.”

“No, I’ll make you Balmoș. You keep eating that, you’ll weigh a hundred pounds in no time.”

Michael followed him to the kitchen island. “You’re not exactly helping me get over being angry with you. I’m positive I already weigh more than a hundred pounds. What the hell is Balmos?”

Nigel motioned for him to sit, as he started rummaging through the fridge looking for the right ingredients.

“A dish every Romanian loves, and you’ll love it too. It’s a delicious mess of eggs, cheese, sour cream…usually served with sausage.”

Michael leaned his head on the counter. “Sounds good…”

Nigel knew he was feigning exhaustion to get out of eating, but he wasn’t falling for it.

“Sit up. I’ll make you some coffee if you’re tired. You’re eating, angel.”

Michael looked at him wearily. “I’m not hungry….”

“Tough shit. I’m sick of looking at your fucking ribs.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but let it go, knowing the battle was lost. Though neither mentioned it, he wasn’t entirely over his detox and his stomach still bothered him at times. In addition to his ever-changing moods, his appetite had yet to return completely, but he didn’t have the energy to argue with Nigel. He’d eat, because he wanted sex later, and Nigel was more attentive when he was pleased. Sex was fast becoming his substitute for drugs, and maybe that wasn’t healthy, but Nigel didn’t complain about his new favorite past-time.  He thought about stripping down to nothing to distract him, but he’d just make him eat later, so he sat on the stool and watched Nigel boil eggs and sour cream, mixed with cheese, and fry sausages into something that looked very good when put on a plate in front of him. It tasted even better.

He ate silently until his plate was half empty, then looked up grinning. “Sorry.”

Nigel laughed. “Glad you’re enjoying.”

He nodded, still stuffing his face. “It’s really good.”

He cleaned his plate, refusing seconds. After politely putting his empty plate in the sink, he pulled his shirt off, dropping it on the floor, followed by his pants and boxers and started walking towards the stairs. He glanced once at Nigel, who’s fork was comically suspended in mid-air. Stifling a laugh, he started up.

“I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Nigel laughed outright, and wondered where his shy little angel had gone. He definitely wasn’t complaining.

 

* * *

 

“Jesus Nigel, you’re taking forever.”

Nigel currently had two lube-soaked fingers up Michael’s ass, preparing him, and ignoring his impatient protests. Michael sat astride his lap, trembling and leaking all over Nigel’s belly, but his petulant darling would have to wait. He decided he wanted to try riding him, and Nigel wasn’t about to let him get hurt.

“It’s for your own fucking good. If you need to cum, then cum, not like you won’t get that lovely prick of yours stiff again in a few seconds.”

Michael braced himself on Nigel’s chest; skin turning bright red with the effort not to come all over his belly. He felt his balls tighten and when Nigel rubbed his favorite spot with his finger he knew it was all over. He was sure Nigel did it on purpose. 

“You suck.”

“Later, darling. Now if you don’t mind, my cock is about to fucking explode, so get it up there, and go easy.”

Michael reached behind him and gave Nigel’s balls a squeeze (which earned him a slap on the ass), then slowly lowered himself onto his cock. Its burned a little, and he was very happy Nigel took forever to prepare him as he got used to the new position, but he’d never tell him that.

Nigel watched Michael find his rhythm slowly, then lose himself completely. He couldn’t seem to get enough of fucking these days, and Nigel knew why. But if this is what he needed, he’d rather they fuck like rabbits than risk Michael returning to a needle.

Michael grabbed his own cock and started stroking it, keeping one hand firmly on Nigel’s chest. Nigel nearly came right there at the sight. He pulled him down, plunging his tongue in that sweet boy’s mouth while he grabbed his ass, pushing Michael further down on cock, using his legs to push into him faster. Michael came in a loud, desperate rush soon after and collapsed hard on Nigel, as he spilled inside of him. They were a mess of limbs, sweat and cum, and Nigel felt like his heart would explode with how happy he was. How the fuck could he love someone this much?

** 

Balmos:  
 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very sorry for taking so long. But we're in the final stretch now. I'll miss this story. :(  
> *also warning for violence

Nigel never wanted to deal with the fucking Russians ever again. They had no goddamn honor—where he came from, a deal was a deal and you didn’t try taking advantage at the last fucking minute with extra muscle. Luckily, he was no fool, and brought back up in case they tried something. In the end, he’d left with his head intact, and no blood spilled. Still it was odd they even tried it. The head guy had been talking like there was another deal in the works; that Nigel intended take over as his main supplier going forward. While that deal would make him crazy fucking rich many times over, it wasn’t worth it. He just wanted to collect his angel and get the hell out of there. Maybe even sell the pub when things calmed down enough for it not to be suspicious. The asshole tried threats, but Nigel wasn’t having it. He made it clear that if he kept pushing the issue, he’d leave their meeting with his own cock shoved up his ass. It wasn’t lost on Nigel, that Pavel was the one to finally end the stand-off. Since when was he so fucking chummy with the Russians? He knew he should be paying closer attention to that particular development, but he just wanted it over. He had his fortune—more than enough to keep them both comfortable for years. He just needed to breathe, get Michael some place peaceful and safe, then plan the rest of their lives.

**

A week later, the house was almost packed up, though he was leaving all the furniture behind. Donal had instructions to sell it, or give it away, Nigel didn’t care. His crew was paid off handsomely and had a nice drunken send off at the pub. His only regret was he was too fucked up to properly fuck Michael when he came home—a fact his adorable hot-head did not let him forget it most of the next day. He was finally beginning to cool off, as he didn’t duck Nigel’s kiss that morning.

“You’re denying yourself too, darling.”

Michael just shrugged and sat next to Nigel on the couch. “When are we leaving?”

“Our plane leaves Friday morning. First-fucking-class.”

Michael smiled a little. “Plan on joining the mile-high club then?” 

Nigel squeezed his cheeks and kissed him. “Already a member.”

Michael rolled his eyes, and shifted away.

“I’m kidding, Angel.” 

Michael raised his eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”

Nigel laughed. “Yea, I’m not. It’s not that fucking great. No room to move around in those tiny fucking bathrooms.”

Michael didn’t seem to be listening anymore. He sat with his knees gathered in his arms, chewing slowly on his bottom lip. He’d been quiet all day, and Nigel knew it wasn’t because he was pissed off about the other night.

“What’s wrong?”

Michael looked up, something clouding his eyes. “I…think. I should probably tell my parents I’m leaving London. My Mum at least. Maybe it’s not a good idea, but I did promise her I’d let her know where I am. But, is it ok to do that? I don’t want to get you in any trouble.” 

Nigel pulled him into his arms and kissed his hair. He really did need a haircut. “Tell her whatever you need to. I’m guessing she doesn’t know much about me.”

Michael looked slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t tell her anything. It’s not you…I just…”

Nigel just quieted him. “I don’t give a fuck who you tell, as long as you’re with me, that’s all I give a shit about, ok? I don’t have much use for parents. But if you decide you want to include them in your life. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Michael let go of the tension he’d been carrying all day and climbed on Nigel’s lap, facing him.

“I love you, you crazy fucking man. I’ll just give her my number and tell her I’m leaving London. I don’t want to see her again, not yet.”

“Whatever you want păsărică?” 

Michael kissed him “I’m still a little bird huh?”

Nigel nodded. “You eat more and we’ll talk.”

Michael pinched him and started kissing him and tugging on his shirt. Nigel owed him big for the other night. 

* * *

 

They spent the next few days closing up the house, left with only a few things to pack. Donal already started listing the furniture, though Michael didn’t really understand why they didn’t just let Donal stay there; but Nigel answered with a ‘no’ that brokered no argument, so he let it drop. The plan was to order take-away and just spend the last night in the flat lazing about—though he knew for Nigel that mostly meant fucking.

Michael knelt on a stool, body slung across the kitchen island, with a spread of take-out menus in front of him.

“You know, we live above a pub.”

Michael ignored him. “I’m aware, but I don’t imagine there’s much Indian food where we’re off to, this may be my last chance for a while.”

Nigel shrugged and grabbed a handful of boxer-clad ass as he walked by. Michael shifted and glared a little at him.

“You walk around like that, with your fucking ass in my face and you expect me to ignore it?”

He rolled his eyes, and gave him a puzzled frown before returning to the menu he’d settled on. “Dressed like what?”

“Oh, _fuck off_.” Nigel laughed. “You’re walking around here in your tighty fucking boxers, wearing _my_ old t-shirt—which I still don’t know how the fuck you found…I’m not made of fucking stone, angel.”

Michael just shook his head. “You’re an old perv, Nigel. Want the Jalfrezi or the Korma?”

Nigel pinched him. “Get both, and lots of fucking naan, garlic.”  Michael kicked him, remembering too late he was barefooted, which only make Nigel laugh. He ordered their food, sliding down on the stool declaring their order would arrive in about 40 minutes.

Nigel leaned down and ran his tongue along his neck. “That’s plenty of time…”

Michael hopped off the stool and went around to the other side of the island and opened the wine fridge.

“You can play fucking coy, but I can see you tenting your shorts from here.”

“No, you can’t.” Michael looked at the giant slab of stone and wood between them that definitely hid him.

“I fucking _knew it_.” Nigel smiled and walked around to stand in front him, and unceremoniously, shoved his hand down his boxers, wrapping his hand firmly around his cock.

Michael leaned forward, against Nigel’s bare chest, while he started pumping him. Nigel reached around and slipped a hastily wetted finger into his ass, and Michael winced.

“Still sore my insatiable angel?”

Michael lightly bit Nigel’s nipple and nodded against his chest. They may have overdone it that morning at Michael’s insistence, and he’d definitely felt it all day. For once, he didn’t want Nigel anywhere near his ass.

Nigel kissed his cheek, then slid to his knees. Michael smiled gratefully as Nigel pulled his boxers down and took his cock into his mouth. He gently massaged his ass, while sucking and lightly biting his cock, mercilessly. The combination of gentleness and roughness drove Michael right out of his skin, and for once he didn’t care if the entire pub below heard him nearly scream as he came powerfully down his throat. Nigel released him with a greedy lick, and Michael slid down to the floor trying to catch his breath when someone knocked on the door. 

Michael looked up at him, slightly alarmed. “Don’t you dare!”

Nigel quickly rinsed his mouth and threw Michael a towel, smirking. “Gotta be important. Everyone knows better than to come the fuck up here. Clean yourself up, or go upstairs if you’re so fucking embarrassed.”

Michael yanked his boxers up, hurrying to get upstairs before whoever it was saw him—because he was positive they heard him.

All Donal saw when Nigel opened the door, was a streak of light gray ass and Michael’s skinny legs running up the stairs. He’d find it funny if what he had to tell Nigel wasn’t so urgent.

“Sorry, I tried to wait until you had your cock out of his ass. Noisy fucker ain’t he?”

“My cock wasn’t in... what do you want Donal? I can’t remember the last fucking time you came up here. Something happen?”

Donal paced near the sofa, making to sit down a couple of times before returning to moving around the room.

“What the fuck, Donal?”

“Sorry, sorry…” He opted to sit down finally, and Nigel took the chair across from him.

“I know I made you a lot of promises—about this place, and looking after the pub…but I’m afraid I can’t do it. If Pavel’s in charge, I can’t stay Nigel. I’m sorry.”

He’d known Donal a long time; they go back well over a decade. He’d been one of the first people Nigel met when he arrived in London, and one of the few that didn’t look at him like he was scum or a criminal. Most importantly, he never bothered him with problems unless they were serious, so if there was something up with his partner, he’d listen.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Donal ran a hand through his sparse hair. “No, I do not, but I need to. I fucking hate the guy for putting me in this position, but my loyalty is with you, and what’s right.”

“It’s about Pavel?”

Donal nodded. “I might as well come out with it. I’ve seen him a few times walking out the back with a couple of the Russians a few nights. I didn’t pay it much mind; thought maybe you guys had some new deal with them. But a couple of times, guys came and asked for him specifically, and seemed to make sure you weren’t around first.” He pulled out a smoke, and Nigel lit it for him, listening intently now, hoping this wasn’t going where he thought.

“Look, I can’t prove anything, but I’ve overheard some things, and I think Pavel and some of the Russians cut a deal on the side, off your main one—double-crossing you and their boss. Fucking suicidal if you ask me, but Pavel was always a goddamn fool.”

Nigel was on his feet in a second, looking for something to punch the shit out of, but he was surrounded by boxes.

“Fuck… _fuck!_ That fucking piece of shit idiot! I will fucking kill him for this!”

Donal wanted to get the hell out of there, but Nigel needed to calm down and think. He had a boy upstairs that needed him.

“I’m telling you so you guys can get out of here early. Korlov is sniffing around already, and I think he knows. He’s got no reason to think you’re not in on it too. Come back and deal with Pavel later.”

Nigel looked incredulous. “Deal with him later?! I will fucking rip his head off as soon as I find the useless cocksucker! I—.”

“Nigel? What’s happening?” Michael came down the stairs, alarmed by all the shouting. His hair was damp from a quick shower, and he’d thrown a pair of jeans on. He nodded a greeting at Donal, though puzzled why he was there.

Donal stood up. “I’ve done what I’ve needed. Now it’s up to you. I don’t want anything to happen to either one of you—you’re my family and I’m going to miss your loud fucking voice.” He looked over at Michael and winked “Both of you.”

Michael blushed hard at that, and shot daggers at Donal confirming he’d heard him before he knocked on the door. Donal laughed and pulled him into a hug.

“Hey, just glad to see the old man still knows what he’s doing.” Michael lightly punched him, but couldn’t help but smile, but it quickly faded when he realized this could be the last time they see each other.

“I’m going to miss you Donal.” 

“I’m going to miss you too kid.” Donal pulled him in for another hug, and whispered fiercely in his ear, seeing Nigel retreat to the kitchen. “You deserve more OK? This doesn’t have to be the rest of your life. You’re too bright this shit. Just be careful, son.”

Michael eased out of his embrace, frowning, but nodded at him, knowing he meant well. “I promise.” He gave him another hug and went upstairs while he and Nigel said their goodbyes. He only hoped he got an explanation about the shouting about after he left.

**

He returned when the food arrived. Nigel insisted on putting everything on the plates they hadn’t bothered to pack, mumbling they were going to be “fucking civilized and not eat out of goddam plastic.” Whatever Donal told him had definitely put him in a mood.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong or just keep grumbling?”

He reached over and kissed his head, holding him a little longer than necessary. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just some shit Pavel made that I need to handle before we go.”

“Pavel? Really? Does that mean we need to postpone our trip?”

“No fucking way. We’re leaving Friday morning, just like we fucking planned. Fuck Pavel.”

Michael let the subject drop—he could feel the anger radiating off Nigel, and he knew when to leave him alone. He went back to his Chicken Jalfrezi, pouring Nigel another drink of whiskey.

Nigel noticed the silent intent and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, darling. I’ll take care of this mess tomorrow.” 

Michael leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “You don’t have to protect me. If there’s anything I can do, you should tell me. I at least need to know what’s going on. I may look like a kid, but I’m not actually one.”

Nigel smiled and returned the kiss. “No, angel, you are fucking definitely not a child. I promise, I’ll tell you when we get to Corsica. It’s not safe to keep you in the dark about everything. But this matter needs to be taken care of, by me. Have the last piece of Naan, so you’ll stop looking like a skinny kid”

Michael smacked him as hard as he could on the head, but grabbed the last piece.

 

* * *

 Angry voices roused Michael out of a blissful sleep. His first instinct was to tell Nigel to turn the damn TV off, but when he went to nudge him, he wasn’t there. He sat up then, and climbed out of bed, pulled towards the noise was coming from the window. He looked down to the alley below, wedged between the two buildings that made up the pub and the small out-building. There he saw what looked to be Nigel, and five other men, all swathed in shadow and impossible to make out clearly. One man had Nigel restrained, while the shouting escalated. Michael quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and ran, by-passing the elevator and taking the stairs. He ran quickly towards the outside door, but saw someone standing there blocking it. It wasn’t until he stood in front of whoever it was, he realized it was Donal. As soon he noticed Michael, he yanked him hard away from the door, hissing at him to “get his ass back upstairs.”

Michael was having none of it. “What the fuck is going on? Who are they?” They were interrupted by Nigel’s very angry voice telling whoever was now pointing a gun at him to “fuck off.”

“The Russians think Nigel was in on the deal to short change them. You really need to get the fuck upstairs now!”

But Michael was staring out the door’s window, hardly comprehending what he was seeing. One guy had a tight hold on Nigel, while two other guys flanked him. It looked like Nigel was bleeding, and Michael pushed hard against Donal’s hold.

“Let go of me!” Donal, only tightened his grip. “What are you going to do Michael? Those men have guns. Let Nigel handle this!”

“Handle it how?! He’s bleeding and they’re holding a gun on him! I can’t lose him Donal!” 

Donal wrapped an arm around him, trying to get him to calm down. “Just stay here. I’m watching and I have his back I always have, Ok?”

Michael didn’t seem appeased, but he tried to focus, he didn’t want to get Nigel killed.

“Now, as soon as it makes sense, I’ll take out the guy holding Nigel.” For the first time Michael realized Donal was holding a rather large gun. “Please go upstairs, kid.”

“I’m not…” Voices suddenly raised, and Michael twisted out of Donal’s arms in time to see one of the other men come right up to Nigel and put the barrel of the gun right against his temple. Michael shoved past Donal, panicked, with no clear plan.

All heads turned as he screamed “Get the fuck off him!”

Nigel’s heart dropped at the sight of him. He took advantage of the distraction and kicked the guy holding him, ducking to avoid the bullet that sped past his head. Things quickly devolved from there, as Donal shot the two men closest to Nigel, while trying to locate Michael to drag him back inside. Things were so heated no one heard the third shot. The deafening sound still ringing in Michael’s ears as he slumped down to his knees, trying to catch a breath that wouldn’t come. He thought he heard Nigel scream his name before there was nothing but black.

 

**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the final stretch! Only one more chapter to go. Thanks for staying with me :) <3

Nigel watched Michael’s long lean, newly bronzed body emerge from the surf. His hair, darkened by the water, fell curling at his shoulders, as he waved to Nigel, his smile bright in the afternoon sun. Nigel couldn’t help but return the smile as his beautiful angel grew nearer, with nothing but the long rivulets of water obscuring his beautiful body.  He knew he’d never see anything that beautiful again. He reached out to pull Michael into his arms, but felt nothing. The emptiness jarred him awake and he was once again back in a dark room with only the soft beeping of machines to break the silence.

Michael lay unmoving in the bed, surrounded by wires and tubes, as he had been for the past two days. He’d awakened a few times briefly, making little sense before he fell back into a deep sleep. It was partly the morphine they had him on, which killed Nigel to let them give him, but remembering how he woke up in the back of Donal’s car, screaming from the pain; choking on his own blood—he couldn’t let him suffer again. He’d done enough damage.

Nigel knew he shouldn’t still be there. Two dead guys were found behind the pub, and a crazy Russian was still out for blood, but he wouldn’t let Michael wake up to an empty room. All that shit could wait. He saw now that it all was a pipedream, that none of it had been possible. When you’ve lived like he had for so long, you couldn’t just walk off into the sunset and act like darkness never touched you. Now that darkness threatened to consume Michael, and it was his fault. No matter how Donal tried to tell him differently; he knew, and Donal knew as well. He was just being a good friend feeding him the bullshit he wanted to hear. One of the dead was Pavel, and Nigel couldn’t be arsed to mourn him. What he mourned was the loss of the friend he thought he could trust. But the one that brought guns and near death to the love of his life, could rot the fuck in hell.

Nigel closed his eyes again, trying to rest. He wanted to be alert when Michael was finally lucid again. They needed to talk, and he wouldn’t like what he had to say, but he needed to say it—and Michael, he hoped, in time would learn to live with it.

 

* * *

 

Another day passed, and Donal brought him new clothes, the nurses brought him food and a pillow, thinking it admirable he sat vigil over his little brother—a small lie. It wasn’t until evening when Nigel tried to distract himself with the very crap TV the hospital provided, that Michael slowly awakened. He turned to look at Nigel with focused eyes for the first time in days. Nigel couldn’t help the smile at finally being able to see that face alight again.

“Hey angel.”

Michael slowly took in the room, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted.

“This is Corsica?”

Nigel pulled his chair up next to the bed, and took his hand, lightly kissing the knuckles.

“No, we’re still in London. Do you remember?”

Michael squinted a bit, trying to get his brain to knit itself back together.

“I think…there were those guys, yes?...they were going to hurt you. One of them hit me, really hard, I think….is that why I’m here? Hospital, right?”

“Yes…and you got hit, with a bullet. They shot you puiule and I could fucking tear them apart for it. But you’re going to be Ok. You had surgery, but you’ll recover.”

“We have to wait to leave then. I’m sorry—Donal told me not to go…”

Nigel brushed his hair off his forehead and kissed his cheek quickly. “Shh…none of this is your fault. I should get the nurse, you’ve been out of it for days.”

He nodded, his eyes growing heavy again. Maybe now wasn’t the time to have the talk

 

** 

Michael was more lucid when he woke again the next morning, and he was slowly being driven crazy by Nigel’s constant pacing. The one time he brought it up, Nigel avoided the conversation and ducked out of the room, returning even more agitated. There was obviously something he needed to tell him. Was the injury worse than he let on? He mostly felt sore, but the morphine numbed most of the pain. Nigel apologized for it, but he understood, and honestly, he didn’t think he could deal with having his gut ripped open without something to ease the pain. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually been shot. That whole night was still a blur of shouting and motion, ending with pain.  He knew Nigel blamed himself, but it was his own stupidity and stubbornness that put him—both of them, in this mess. Now Nigel sat next to his bed, playing with his fingers and not looking at him.

“What’s going on?” 

Nigel looked up, a ready fake smile on his face. “Nothing, Angel. Just fucking tired…and worried.”

“But, you said I’d be fine.” 

“You are, you’re doing really well. The doctor says just a few more days in here.”

Michael looked at him, getting quickly annoyed with this game and pulled his hand out of his grasp. “Then what aren’t you telling me?”

He couldn’t find the words because he didn’t want to say them. He wanted to be selfish and take Michael away as soon as he was released and start their lives as he intended. He never wanted to be without this amazing creature for even a moment for the rest of his life. He couldn’t walk away, but he had to.

Those wide blue eyes looked right into him, and Nigel wasn’t sure he could breathe. But he forced himself to meet his gaze, and gathered his hands into his, determined to be the strong fucker he knew he was for both of them.

“I have to leave soon. Things aren’t great right now, and it’s a bad idea for me to stick around for much longer. You’ll be ok. No one is looking for you. Donal is taking care of a few loose ends to let me leave quietly.”

Michael swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s ok. I understand. I’ll join you as soon as I get out of here. Donal can help, right?” 

Nigel dropped his head, shaking it slightly. “Michael…” 

“What?” But he felt the dread in the pit of his stomach. He knew but needed to hear him say it.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much I feel like I’m about to cut myself in half. But I’ve thought about it for days. I thought about it when I held you in the back of Donal’s car, while you bleed out all over the seats—because I couldn’t call a fucking ambulance or we’d all go to jail. I thought about it when I had to leave you in a goddamn hospital bay, and then pretend to be your fucking brother so I could see you. I am so fucking angry with myself. You don’t deserve this life, angel. You’re better than all of this.”

Michael’s eyes were clouding with tears, and he gripped Nigel’s arm.

“But…we’re leaving all of this, remember?”

“There’s no leaving this. I tried to convince myself I could start over. But I’m a fucking criminal, and always will be. You deserve more.”

“I deserve you! You’re being an idiot! I only exist because of you. No one else gives two shits about me. You don’t have to be so goddamn noble! I’m not that special! Please don’t do this!”

Nigel held him as best he could, mindful of his injury. “Shhh…Angel you need to calm down. You’re just scared. It’s going to be ok.”

Michael didn’t care anymore and was openly sobbing. “Don’t leave. Take me with you. I don’t care what happens; I can’t be alone anymore, Nigel, please!”

He couldn’t stop his own tears now. His heart was being crushed and he was crushing Michael’s in turn. He only hoped eventually he understood why he needed to walk away now.

“You won’t be alone. I called your parents.”

Michael pulled away and looked at him. “What? Why?”

“I’m sorry my sweet boy.” He wiped Michael’s face, but it was useless. The tears wouldn’t stop. “I explained as much as I could. They’re on their way—both of them. I don’t think they’ll fail you this time; they were really fucking scared.”

He shook his head vehemently “They don’t want me.”

“They do…give them a chance ok? They’ll be here soon…which means I should go.” Michael looked panicked and grabbed Nigel’s shoulder, burying his head against his neck. 

“Look at me păsărică. You don’t need me, and you don’t need your parents. You’re the most amazing person i’ve ever met, and you changed me more than anyone. Maybe that influence will stay with me, and i’ll get my shit together, and we can be together again. But right now. This is no place for you. I love you, my beautiful perfect angel.”

He tilted Michael’s face and kissed him deeply on the lips. Michael returned the kiss until a sob made him turn away. He broke away from Nigel and lay back on his pillow. 

“I love you too.”

Nigel kissed him again, wiping at his own face, and walked out the door.

**

Michael lay in his bed feeling his entire world crumble around him. When his parents finally arrived, his tears hadn’t stopped. They fell silently down his face and he couldn’t seem to find the words to speak any longer. He just laid there silently as his mother’s rambling apologies fell on deaf ears.

 

**

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its finished!!! My GOD I'm going to miss this pair so much. It took longer than I anticipated, but it finally reached its end. Thank you EVERYONE who's read, commented, or kudo'd Much love to you all! <3 <3 <3

What do you do when everything in your life is gone? You move on auto-pilot, becoming one of the walking dead. That’s how Michael felt. If he felt anything at all. His parents tried, and he let them, returning to his old home; his old room, like a ghost. There were whispers of _“he should see someone”_ and he waited patiently to see if anything came of it. Maybe it would help, but part of him was terrified to feel again. Frightened that all he held back would likely consume him.

What do you do when everything you love is suddenly gone? If you’re Nigel, you leave, you go far away from everything and everyone. He thought of that home he bought, sitting empty in Corsica, but he couldn’t bear it alone. So, he drifted through Europe, eventually getting rid of his ‘Russian problem’, hoping it would bring him some peace. But it didn’t. Only one thing could, and he seemed to be moving further away from it.

 

* * *

 

_18 months Later_

England hadn’t changed much as far as Nigel could tell, though he’d never been in this particular part of the country before. It was all ancient impressive buildings and green fields, and a far cry from the grit and noise of Camden. It was definitely bigger than he imagined, and maybe this whole trip would be for nothing. But he couldn’t ignore the pull any longer. He had to know—even if he could only see him from a distance. He found the main building of St. Peter’s college easily enough, but now what the fuck was he supposed to do? Grab every student he came across and ask if they’d seen this amazing angel he’d left behind? He didn’t have an answer, but he wasn’t a quitter either. He rounded a corner and came upon some sort of quad. A few students were gathered in groups in the grass, or under a tree, but he didn’t see a familiar head of dark curls among them. He was about to move on, when he noticed someone leaving the building, walking determined toward an unoccupied tree. He tossed his bag on the ground and sat underneath it, placing the small laptop he carried under one arm on his lap, and opened it.

The hair was shorter and fell in sort of loose bangs around his eyes, but he’d held that flesh enough to know who those skinny arms belonged to even from that distance. Nigel actually felt anxious and nervous, a rare thing for him. He didn’t know what to expect. He left Michael no way of contacting him when he left, even though Donal tried to get him to at least call. He knew if he heard his voice, he’d drop everything and come running back, and that’s not what either of them needed. Judging by where he found Michael now, he’d made the right decision. 

Then Michael saw him. Those same wide blue eyes, looking at him incredulously, and Nigel picked up the pace. When he was finally only a few feet away, Michael snatched up his bag and laptop and started walking quickly in the opposite direction. Nigel didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but had seen him now, and there was no way he was letting him go. So, he followed, staying a slight distance behind him, trying to figure out why he was walking away. Michael slowed once they were away from the main buildings and walking towards what he guessed was the town center. Nigel took a chance and yelled out his name, because for a second, he thought, maybe it wasn’t Michael at all, and he’d just scared the shit out of some kid.

Michael stopped, head hanging down, but he didn’t turn around. He allowed Nigel to catch up to him.

“Michael?”

He turned now, his face flushed with emotion, his eyes staring daggers at him. He went to say something, but instead, shoved him away and started walking again. He went down a small path that led to a secluded walled garden. Once there he sat down on the nearest bench and dropped his head into his hands.

Nigel approached cautiously, and sat down next to him, not really knowing to do with this reaction. He figured he’d either be happy or scream at him, but he didn’t know what this was. He tentatively put a hand on his back. He was still skinny, but he’d filled out a little. He looked good, healthy, and he’d finally gotten that haircut, but it was still long enough that a mass of curls shrouded his face with his head down. 

“What do you want?”  
  
Nigel could barely make it out, muffled as it was by his hands. “Angel, can you sit up? What’s going on?”

“Fuck you Nigel.”

And Nigel smiled at that. There he was. “If you sit up and look at me, you can tell me to fuck off a million different ways.”

He sat up finally and leaned back against the bench, feeling more tired than he had in a very long time. 

“I thought if I saw you again, I wouldn’t give a shit. But I’m stupid I guess.” He turned and looked at him, his face wet with tears, just as Nigel left him. 

“So, what do you want?”

It took everything in Nigel not to touch his face, but he didn’t want him to run off again.

“I wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you how fucking sorry I am. Even though I still think it was the best thing, I shouldn’t have decided for you. I thought, you’d figure out you didn’t really want me, that it was just circumstance, but I’m a fucking idiot sometimes.” 

Michael raised a brow. “Sometimes?”

Nigel grinned and touched a lock of his hair. “Finally cut it huh.” 

Michael wiped his face. “Yea, it’s actually growing back now. I chopped it in the hospital.” 

“It’d be down your back by now, that was a long time ago.”

Michael shook his head and looked away, “Not that hospital.” 

Nigel looked confused, but Michael stood up suddenly. “Can we go somewhere? I don’t want to sit here.”

“Yea, of course.” He stood up and then Michael arms were around him, and he leaned his head against his chest. 

“Are you going to leave again?”

Nigel gently ran his fingers through his hair. “Not this time.”

**

After Michael refused a couple pubs they passed, Nigel took him back to his hotel room at the Bank Hotel. Seemed like every building in the town was eight hundred fucking years old and used to be something else. He’s guessing this hotel used to be a bank. He’d splurged and gotten the biggest suite they had. He was celebrating after all, or had high hopes he would be, and his angel deserved the best. If Michael had any trepidations, he didn’t voice them. He didn’t say much else on the short walk over, so Nigel still had no idea what he was making of all this.

He followed Nigel into the room and sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, by the window. He glanced around quickly and gave Nigel a slight smirk.

“Posh.”

“Yea well, this little town of yours ‘not as pricey as London, so I figured what the hell.”

“My parents stay here when they’re in town. Though they don’t get a big suite or anything.”

That’s surprised him. “So, you getting on with your parents?”

He shrugged. “As much as anyone can. They finally stopped wishing I was someone else and decided to work with what they had. It’s not perfect, but better than it was. They’re happy I’m finally at university, though I’m pretty sure my Dad pulled strings to get me into St. Peters. But I’m holding my own.”

Nigel smiled, “That’s really fucking great Angel.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare go thinking that’s proof what you did worked! And I’m not ‘Angel’, not yet.” 

“I just happy you’re doing ok.” 

The anger he’d been holding back finally broke through. “Yea, _now_ I’m doing ok! Of course, _this_ is when you come back! If you’d come back a year ago, you wouldn’t be so fucking proud of your master plan!”

Despite his efforts, Nigel was growing frustrated. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?!” 

“I wasn’t ok Nigel. I wasn’t fucking Ok when you left!”

A cold, sick dread spread through him. He’d failed him, just like he promised he wouldn’t. But he needed to know what he did. 

“What happened?” 

Michael saw Nigel’s face and stopped. He’d never seen that look before. Maybe some variation of it in the hospital, but nothing as raw as that. Just pure fear, edged in shame. He’d looked better in general, he had to admit. There were new lines etched in his face, and a bit more silver in his hair, but he still looked beautiful and perfect to him. He took a deep breath and faced him with a new calm.

“Its…I’m sorry Nigel. I know I’m blaming you. But I’m just angry, or I was. It’s not your fault. I was hanging on by threads even when I was with you. Falling in love with you let me forget and let me pretend for a while that everything was fine, but…when you left, I couldn’t pretend any longer, I just…I guess I broke. First, I was numb, barely spoke to my parents at all…and then Donal sent this package. It was just a couple of things from the flat that he guessed where mine. I completely shattered. It was terrifying. My parents, didn’t know what to do. They took me to a psychiatrist they knew, and he admitted me right away.” 

“Oh fuck…Puiule…. _fuck_ , I’m…” Nigel wanted to pull him into his arms, but he didn’t know what he should do.

“Look. I needed it. I hadn’t dealt with any of my shit. Not Annie’s death, not being in jail; my drug addiction. None of it. It needed to happen. I hated it, but I know I’m better for it.”

“Fucking Christ, all I do is break the things I love. I don’t deserve you Michael, I never have.”

Michael smiled at him sadly and shook his head. “You’ve always thought that deep down didn’t you? Is that the real reason I was your Angel?”

He walked over to where Nigel sat dejectedly on the bed and knelt in front of him. “We’re the same. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but neither one of us ever fit into the world we were born into. And we’re both stubborn as hell. I know to look at us, it doesn’t make sense. But we fit, and as angry as I am, I’m more grateful that you finally got a clue and came back. I don’t know if I’d have looked for you. Not yet.”

Nigel leaned down and dragged him from the floor and into his lap and held on for dear life. They stayed like that for a while, until Nigel lifted his head and kissed his face.

“I was in my own hell these last few months. Didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself. I wish I had some great noble reason for coming here, but I just missed you so fucking much I thought if I didn’t see you I’d walk into the fucking ocean. In the end, I’m just a selfish shit." 

Michael kissed him. “Yea, but you’re my selfish shit.”

He started undressing him slowly, then allowed Nigel to do the same to him. They just lay on the bed together, limbs entwined, enjoying the warmth of each other’s skin.

“So how many did you sleep with?”

Nigel raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “None, Angel, what would be the point if I couldn’t have you?”

Michael pinched him hard. “Liar.”

“It was all to try and forget you, darling. A losing battle.”

“Well, I didn’t...not with anyone. So…go slow Ok?”

Nigel nodded and proceeded to worship every inch of him with his mouth and tongue, until he was a writhing mess beneath him. It reminded him so much of the boy he’d first taken to his bed, so unsure and raw with emotion. But Michael wasn’t that shy kid anymore, and when he’d finally had enough of Nigel’s teasing, he claimed what he wanted with a new confidence, and he loved him even more for it. 

**

Michael laid lazily against Nigel’s chest, playing with the ever-graying hair there. He felt like he could sleep peacefully for days, but part of him was afraid to close his eyes and have it all disappear.

“So…now what? I’d like to stay in school. I’m actually doing well, and I’ve got an internship this summer.” 

He kissed his damp curls and smiled. “Always knew you were fucking brilliant.”

“So…?”

“So, I saw a cute little pub for sale, next town over. Donal, the always fucking match-maker told me about it. Doesn’t need much work, but it’d give me something to do, while my little angel becomes smarter than all of us. Figured I’d get a little place here, if you want to stay over some nights. How’s that sound?” 

Michael gave him a very rare, very large grin and kissed him deeply.

“I’ll think about it.”

 

* * *

 

They made an odd couple in the small town of Oxford, but people stopped staring and whispering eventually. Michael had gone through far too much to start caring what people thought now, and Nigel never did. And their lives quickly fell into a routine; Michael riding his bike over to his pub after classes every day, studying at his favorite table until Nigel drove them both home each evening. Sometimes, Michael would cook dinner at the townhouse they shared near the university, moving in pretty quickly after the last piece of furniture was acquired. He even had his parents over for dinner, delighting in his father’s barely contained rage at being forced to confront his son’s older Romanian lover. It didn’t make sense to anyone but them, but it didn’t need to. Maybe it wouldn’t last forever, but they would enjoy what they had for as long as they both wanted it.

 

The End.  

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Michael Crying](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169831) by [TheSeaVoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaVoices/pseuds/TheSeaVoices)




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